


You and the Moon and Neptune

by winterwaters



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cops/Investigators, Downton-ish AU, Drabbles, Drunkenness, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Meetings, Flashbacks, Flirting, Fluff, Friendship, Future Fic, Kids, Kids scheming, POV Multiple, Post Season 2, Prompt Fic, Scheming, Single Parents, Tumblr Prompt, Tumblr gifsets do things to me, more tags to come, upstairs/downstairs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-04-20 07:55:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4779692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterwaters/pseuds/winterwaters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of (mostly) standalone drabbles involving Bellamy and Clarke in all sorts of universes, including a few prompts originally posted on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Land of Sweets

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm gonna try this for a while, mostly for ficlets/scenes that I can't get out of my head. Hopefully it'll keep me writing at least a bit while life goes nuts ;D Thanks for reading and hope you enjoy! Title from Bright by Echosmith.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU- Bell & Clarke behind the scenes at the high school play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear this was short... and then it wasn't.

“I still can’t believe you talked me into this.” Clarke elbowed Raven goodnaturedly before dipping her brush in the paint bin again. “This is time I could be using for my lab practical.”

“Oh boo-hoo,” came the confident reply. “You needed a break, Griffin, and I know you _love_ these plays. You’ve never missed one. What better way to distract yourself?”

“I don’t need a distraction from school. There are enough of those as it is.”

“I wasn’t talking about school,” Raven said pointedly, and Clarke’s mouth shut tight.

 _Oh._ Right. Him.

Raven patted her shoulder, then pointed to the corner with a grin. “You missed a spot." She danced out of reach of Clarke's swipe just in time, hopping away to boss around the rest of her crew. Clarke smiled and kept painting, listening to Raven bark sharp orders into the headset that was a near permanent attachment to her head. Aside from that, there was just the swirl of color on canvas, something new for her to create instead of analyze. As usual, her friend had been right. It _was_ quite soothing. And she did need the distraction, as much as she hated to admit it. Her ex - _their_ ex - was still too present in her thoughts for her liking. Not for any good reasons, but still - she wanted him out entirely.

"Incoming!"

She jumped aside just in time for a taller blonde boy to land next to her in a heap, the ladder he had fallen from swaying a little too hard in their direction.

 _"Wick!!"_ Raven's shout made everyone flinch. She stomped over, just barely stopping clear short of stepping on him altogether. Her hands set on her hips. "What am I going to do with you?"

Wick flashed a cheeky grin. "Well since you asked-- _ow!"_

Clarke smothered a laugh as he grabbed his ankle, which Raven had sent her boot into before striding away. Shaking her head, she pulled him up, then pushed him after Raven with a knowing grin. A small sigh left her as she took in the scene from the stage.

They were in the auditorium of their high school, where the school’s annual production of The Nutcracker would occur in December - about a month away. Clarke adored everything about the ballet - the soaring music that always lifted her spirits, the beautifully detailed set pieces in the background, and of course, the dancers themselves. 

She _loved_ watching the dancers, and not just because Octavia was one of them. Though, she was definitely the main reason. She’d never tire of seeing her friend fling herself around the stage with such energy and grace all at once. The girl was nothing short of riveting.

As Clarke got on the step-stool to reach the top of the sign, a mop of curly black hair popped up on the other side, and she shrieked and nearly fell off in surprise.

“Hey there.” Bellamy’s cheeky grin could be seen for miles.

She glared at him, wobbling dangerously. “What are _you_ doing here?”

“Nice to see you too, princess.”

Clarke rolled her eyes but managed to keep her balance, returning her attention to the piece at hand. She would not smile. She would _not._ Bellamy ducked under the banner and glanced up at where she teetered on the step, the brush in her hands barely skating along the top edge.

“Need some help?”

“I’ll manage.”

“Alright. Suit yourself.” He strolled away, only to return with a brush of his own and another small stool. From the corner of her eye she watched him stand on the top step and pointedly, effortlessly, reach the blank spot she was so desperately trying to fill in.

Clarke rolled her eyes in exaggeration. “Have at it,” she sighed. Bellamy chuckled and took the brush from her hand, painting in the corner of the sign.

“So what brings you here?” He asked.

“Raven’s down a crew member. You?”

“Detention.”

“Of course.”

She figured it was in response to the shiner he’d given Jonah the other day. She’d been at her locker when the scuffle broke out almost right next to her, a mess of limbs and a loud smack before Bellamy emerged tousled but otherwise unhurt. 

As if he’d read her mind, Bellamy said, “He deserved it. Jonah’s a prick.”

“He _is_ a prick,” she agreed, and he smiled in surprise. She raised an eyebrow. “That still doesn’t mean you had to punch him. You’ve got enough shit to deal with as it is. It's your senior year.”

Bellamy only shrugged, though his eyes avoided hers for a little too long, making her wonder if she’d missed something. Her mind thought back to the flash of concern she’d seen on his face right as he was rising from the floor. But it was gone in a blink, and she’d dismissed it entirely as her imagination.

Before she could probe further, a group of dancers walked into the auditorium, chatting amongst themselves as they got ready for practice. Octavia was easy to spot among them, her chestnut hair pulled back in a long rope of a ponytail that swung down her back. Her practice skirt was neon green today. She waved cheerily as she hopped up on stage, throwing a thankful smile Bellamy’s way before turning to put her shoes on. Clarke took it in with an ever-growing curiosity.

As the music started, the dancers got into position. Eagerly, Clarke clambered down from the stool, heading to the side of the stage - partly to work on another small set piece, and partly so she could see them better. Bellamy followed, settling on her other side with the paintbrush still in hand. Unintentionally, she found herself watching him as he watched his sister dance, completely unaware of the smile that covered his face. His whole demeanor seemed to soften, as if his shields had been temporarily let down. 

Clarke nudged him. “She’s incredible.”

“Yeah, she is.” The pride was evident in his voice. “It’s always fun to watch her around the house, but seeing her up here on stage, under the lights… it’s something else. It never gets old.”

“Just wait til she’s in full costume. You might faint.”

“I really might.”

Clarke giggled. He was such a proud big brother. Not even his usual know-it-all, tough persona could withstand his sister. To be fair she already knew that, having been friends with Octavia since middle school. But for a while Bellamy had just been her older brother who was usually working at the diner or the gas station or whatever extra job he'd taken on that semester, while they stayed home and tried to use another Youtube episode to learn to cook. His mom was a rare presence, also always at work, and so the most Clarke had seen of Bellamy for a long time was his gaunt cheeks and tired eyes that made her want to shovel food into his mouth and tuck him into bed. He was a couple grades ahead of them, so high school had been the first time they interacted outside of the norm. She pretended like it wasn't just another chance for her to check up on him, but it totally was. She cared about him just as much as she did his sister - not that she'd say so out loud, of course. 

While the dancers continued to practice, she painted a little bit more, letting herself get lost in the blend of colors and the music swirling around her. The brush swept back and forth in time to the rhythm, and she swayed softly on the spot without realizing it. She was still humming along to the song long after the music had faded, until she finally looked up and found Bellamy’s eyes on her, warm and inquisitive.

Despite herself, she blushed. “Sorry. I tend to lose track of time when the music starts.”

“Don’t apologize.” He moved to help her, pulling over another larger set piece they could start on. Just then, the younger kids ran out to practice their part of the dance with the Sugar Plum Fairy. Octavia was smiling widely as she adjusted their posture and watched them mimic her stance. The music started up again and they fell into the dance comfortably, their limbs extending in practiced, precise motions as the notes swelled. 

Clarke sighed wistfully, causing Bellamy to glance over. She gave a small shrug. “I just love watching them.”

“Ever want to join in?”

“I wish. I don’t have a rhythmic bone in my body,” Clarke laughed, but he looked at her in earnest.

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“What?” Her cheeks flushed anew at the thought of anyone - but especially Bellamy - having caught her dancing.

He seemed to catch himself too late, scratching his neck nervously as he looked away. “I mean, I saw you guys once when I came to pick up O.”

When he came to pick up… that had been last semester. Octavia had convinced her to take a dance class together, and Clarke had finally agreed partly to satisfy her and partly because she really wanted to. They’d been fooling around long after school in the small studio, turning the music up high and throwing themselves around the room when Bellamy walked in. It was one of the few times Clarke could point to that she had felt completely uninhibited.

She bit her lip, suddenly shy. “We were just messing around. Octavia tends to bring out the sillier side in me.”

“She has that effect,” he agreed with a grin.

Clarke was so surprised at the lack of teasing that she forgot to be embarrassed. Then the music changed, and she recognized it instantly as Octavia’s solo. Both their heads turned to watch her float across the stage, eyes alight and limbs extended. Clarke could only see the beauty in her lithe form as she moved, the beautiful spins and leaps looking near effortless. But when the other girl finished, she just shook her head with a frown while Bellamy chuckled.

“What?” Clarke’s head swiveled between the two. “What’d I miss?” She demanded.

“She missed half a turn in the middle and it threw her. She was off by a beat for the rest of the song. Also I think she may have had her fingers pointed in the wrong direction and her leg needs better extension in the last chorus…” he trailed off thoughtfully.

Clarke stared in amazement. “Where did you learn all of that?” 

He raised an amused eyebrow. “Who do you think Octavia practiced with all these years?”

Oh. That made sense. But… “I never saw you two!!"

"Well, duh. That was part of the deal."

She stuck out her tongue. "Didn't she take lessons though?”

“Yeah, just the ones at the rec center. We couldn’t really afford the private lessons, not until recently, and those are still only once a week. It’s usually just the two of us.”

An image of a younger, wild Octavia dragging her serious brother around the room sent Clarke into a fit of giggles. Bellamy watched her as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. When she caught her breath, he asked, “Surprised much?”

Clarke immediately felt bad. “No, I just-”

“It’s alright.” He nudged her teasingly, letting her off the hook. “Most people are.”

“Well, I’ve learned my lesson,” she said, and she meant it. Without thinking, she added, "Maybe you can teach me one day, too."

Bellamy stared, surprised, and then as her cheeks reddened, it gave way to mischief, accompanied by a flash of-- hope?

"Maybe," was all he said.

They watched a little longer until the dancers eventually retreated to stretch out or practice individually in the smaller studios. Clarke had since lost herself in painting one of the enormous set backgrounds for the Land of Sweets, so she didn’t realize when the stage practically emptied, leaving just her and Bellamy.

At her questioning glance, he shrugged. “O’s still practicing.”

Clarke smiled to herself and held out a brush, pointing at a location higher up. It was peaceful for a few minutes, simply being able to paint. She hadn’t really let herself do much of that since her dad had gotten sick. It was too painful to walk into his studio and see the blank canvases and unused materials. But here in the quiet auditorium, it was just her and the colors and the blank sheet in front of her, and she was free.

Bellamy had disappeared backstage when Clarke felt another familiar pair of eyes on her. It was a gaze she knew all too well, even when it was directed at the back of her head. She swallowed and glanced over her shoulder to find Finn in the doorway of the auditorium. He began striding to the stage, an apologetic look on his face. She dropped the brush immediately and turned -- only to run right into Bellamy. His arms encircled her, keeping her upright.

“Whoa, easy there. What’s the rush?” 

She pushed at his chest, but he didn’t budge. “I can’t have this conversation again,” she muttered, and now he looked past her. Something hard flashed through his eyes too quick for her to catch, but he still didn’t move. “Please, just let me go,” she shoved him again uselessly.

“Why are you running?” He asked.

Frustrated, she glared. “What else can I do?”

A devilish smirk appeared on his face, and he leaned closer. “Don’t hit me,” he warned. Clarke didn't answer, too mesmerized by the fullness of his bottom lip that was now inches from hers. When his mouth touched hers, all thoughts of running left her head. He was careful, but firm, and soon her lips were moving in tandem with his, his hand gently cradling the back of her head. She might have made a noise in the back of her throat-- whatever it was, it was approval, and it made him press closer, his other hand splaying firmly on her back. Clarke rose to her tiptoes, her arms curling around his neck. 

When they pulled apart, Bellamy was smiling. It took everything she had not to yank him back down to her, and her heart thudded so loudly she wondered who else could hear it. His eyes lingered on her a moment longer before he glanced past her. The smile turned from sweet to smug. 

“Problem solved.”

Clarke turned to find the auditorium completely empty again. Finn was nowhere in sight. She looked up at Bellamy in relief. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Reluctantly, she withdrew her arms and took a step back. Her fingers absently touched her lips, missing how his eyes followed the motion. Taking a deep breath, she returned to the paints, hoping he wasn’t paying too close attention to her shaky hands. But he seemed lost in his own thoughts as they continued in silence for several long minutes.

“Bellamy?”

The timid voice came from the front row of seats, and they both whirled around. Bellamy’s face brightened and he hopped off the ladder, going to crouch at the front of the stage.

“Hey Lizzie,” he greeted warmly. “What’s up? Are you okay?”

Clarke smiled to herself at the protectiveness in his voice. He loved to walk around like he was a big tough guy, but twice now he'd dropped his armor instantly. Not that she could blame him. She’d been tutoring Elizabeth for over a year now. The girl was a sweetheart. She’d had a rough time in the foster system until she landed with one of the families in their neighborhood. It seemed to Clarke that she’d been slowly finding her footing lately.

She was struck by a sudden memory of the younger girl standing quietly in the hall as Bellamy walked into the principal’s office.

“Did you get into trouble?” Elizabeth’s question brought Clarke out of her thoughts, and she inched closer to listen in.

“Nah, come on. You know they can’t resist my charm,” Bellamy replied, and Clarke rolled her eyes. So did Elizabeth, making him chuckle. But the girl’s worry didn’t fade as she stared nervously at her feet. There was guilt all over her features, and Clarke started to get an idea of exactly what might have happened.

“Hey,” Bellamy said softly. He squeezed her shoulder until she looked up. “I just gotta help out with this play for a while. Nothing more than that, alright, kiddo?”

Her unease lifted slightly, but she still looked far too troubled. Bellamy saw it, too, because he sighed and tweaked her nose familiarly. “Come on, Lizzie. I swear I’m not in trouble, okay? Well, besides the princess supervising me.”

He grinned over his shoulder with a wink, and Clarke had to smile. Setting her things down, she walked over to them and set her hands on her hips. “Trust me, I’m watching him,” she assured the younger girl. “That’s punishment enough for anyone.”

Elizabeth’s mouth curved up. “Hi, Clarke.”

“Hey. How’s that English paper coming along?”

The other girl made a face and Bellamy laughed, holding his hand out for a high five. Clarke swatted at his shoulder in mock scolding. “Now I know where she gets that habit,” she complained.

Elizabeth was still grinning when a horn honked outside. “That’s Sheila. I gotta go.”

“Alright. See you this weekend?”

She nodded and waved at them before running out of the auditorium. Clarke turned to the boy beside her. Bellamy smiled gratefully, so wide that his eyes crinkled and she momentarily lost her breath. It occurred to her just now that despite all the time she'd known him, she rarely ever saw him smile like that. Usually he only seemed able to relax around his sister. But now under the full, devastating force of it, she realized how much of a mask he put on for everyone else. 

She wanted to see what was under the mask.

“Clarke?” He waved a hand in front of her face and she jumped, embarrassed. “You okay?”

She nodded, trying to force the heat from her cheeks. “Yeah. Fine. So Elizabeth’s going to be one of the Candy Canes?” 

The diversion worked. “Yup. An understudy, technically. You should’ve seen Octavia’s face when she saw her in the costume.”

“I bet Lizzie loved that.”

“You know, I think she secretly does. Half the time she just puts on the act because everyone expects it.”

“Sounds pretty familiar.” Clarke nudged him with a raised eyebrow, watching a corner of his mouth lift just the slightest as he glanced away. She waited, patient. When he looked back at her, he knew she’d figured it out. “You didn’t punch Jonah, did you?” She asked quietly.

“Oh yes I did.”

“But not at first.”

He shook his head. “He said something to Lizzie, made her snap. I just happened to be around.” His lip curled in disgust. “He deserved more than a punch.”

Clarke agreed, even moreso than before. Bellamy glanced at her. “Look Clarke, don’t say anything about it, okay? She feels bad enough.”

“Of course.”

He gave a grateful nod. She chewed her bottom lip absently, debating whether she should ask what was on her mind. Bellamy nudged her with a small grin. “Princess, you’ve got that look again.”

“What look?”

“The look where you want to tell me something, but aren’t sure if you should.”

“No I don’t.” She flushed, rubbing her neck. “And you shouldn’t know that look yet.”

He grinned. “Come on. Spill.”

She sighed. “I was just wondering, about what you said before… are they really only making you help with the play, or is there something else?”

Bellamy studied her carefully. “Nothing gets past you, does it?” His tone was more admiring than mocking.

“You don’t have to tell me-” she began, but he held up a hand.

“It’s fine. I’m supposed to have a meeting with the principal next week. Seeing as I don’t have the best record and all. Something about evaluating my progress and seeing if I demonstrate any…” his mouth twisted, “regret.” He sighed wearily. “I don’t know who else will be there. I’m assuming at least a couple other higher ups who don’t have a great impression of me as it is.”

“Bellamy,” Clarke put her hand on his arm, but he shook his head.

“I’m not giving up Lizzie.”

“I know that,” she said quickly. “I never thought you would. I just… I wish there was something I could do to help. This isn’t fair.”

He shrugged. “Life’s not fair, princess.”

She ran a hand through her hair, frustrated. There wasn’t much else she could offer, and he certainly didn’t need her pity. Finally she said, “For what it’s worth, _I_ know what you did. I know it probably doesn’t mean anything, but…” 

Bellamy stared at her for a long moment. Then he smiled warmly. “It’s enough for me.”

~~~~~~~~

A week later, Clarke straightened her shirt for the fifth time as she sat outside the small office. Her fingers tapped nervously on her knees. She stared at her reflection in the window, her hair plaited neatly down her back over her collared button-up shirt. Today she hadn’t worn jeans, but her nice corduroys and black flats. Her eyes and lips were lined in soft makeup.

She looked every inch her mother’s daughter.

The voices inside were too low for her to hear. It was making her even more anxious. A small bead of sweat slowly rolled down her neck. Nobody but Raven knew what she was about to do, and even telling Raven had been hard enough. For this to work, it had to be a surprise to everyone involved. 

Including Bellamy.

Then the office door swung open and she was being admitted inside. She had only a moment to meet Bellamy’s stunned eyes before turning to greet the adults in the room. As she’d hoped, it was the principal, the vice principal, and the school counselor. Her face smoothed easily into the polite, practiced greeting as she firmly shook each of their hands, inquiring after their health and as to how Principal Jaha’s son was recovering.

Then she sat in the empty seat next to Bellamy, purposely close enough that they were pressed together from hip to knee. She nudged him ever so slightly, and prayed to anything she’d ever believed in that he would keep his mouth shut.

The principal spoke, his voice low and smooth. “I understand you have something you’d like to say in defense of Mr. Blake.”

All four pairs of eyes locked on hers curiously, none more surprised than Bellamy’s. Clarke nodded, clearing her throat. “I’m sure you’ve heard from many others about Jonah- Mr. Hibbard’s side of the story. But I think it’s only fair that you know all the facts.”

A pause, then: “Go on.”

“Bellamy did throw the first punch. That much is correct. But it wasn’t unprovoked. Jonah said something particularly nasty to me and though I tried to ignore it, he didn’t stop. Bellamy happened to overhear.”

She’d gone over the story in her head, repeated it out loud to Raven over and over until no holes could be poked in it. So she was already anticipating the questions.

“What reason would Mr. Hibbard have to be rude to you?”

 _Easy._ “He was annoyed I wouldn’t tutor him without an appointment. But I already had a few kids lined up and I knew they needed my help more. Plus I had my own homework to finish on top of that. I did suggest he ask one of the others.” She smiled. “I wasn’t trying to be rude. It wasn’t my intention at all.”

Their expressions were thoughtful. Clarke knew she had them hooked. Rumors of Jonah’s temper weren’t exaggerated.

“What did he say to you exactly?”

She shrugged, twirling a loose strand of hair around her finger. “Something I’d rather not repeat in person. I’m happy to write it down, though. There was a certain… allusion to him finding _other_ ways to repay my help.”

Her nose wrinkled and she looked at the carpet, as if just the thought was too much. And really, it wasn’t a far stretch. Imagining Jonah doing anything of that sort was revolting. God only knew she’d heard him go on about it often enough. And frankly she didn’t put it past him to say something of a similar nature to Elizabeth. But by putting herself in the picture, she kept the younger girl out of it entirely while putting a face to the problem all the same. 

Clarke didn’t like actively calling attention to her name, but this time she’d figured the circumstances called for it.

When she peeked up through her eyelashes, the adult’s faces were twisted in similar thought. She chanced a sidelong look at Bellamy. He was staring deliberately at the corner of the oak desk, though he appeared to be trying very hard to contain a smile.

“Why,” began the counselor, “would Mr. Blake take offense to what was said to you?”

Clarke opened her mouth, but Bellamy got there first. “My sister goes to school here, too. If Jonah says those kinds of things to _Clarke Griffin_ in plain sight, what do you think he’d say to Octavia if he got the chance?” Though he’d said her name, she knew he was thinking of Elizabeth. He looked at each of them in turn, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “You have daughters of your own. You really want someone like that walking around here with free reign?”

The adults blanched slightly at the reprimand. Clarke put a hand on his arm comfortingly. The anger in his voice was real, and though part of her wished he hadn’t jumped in, she knew why he had. It had hit too close to home. 

She took a deep breath. This was where she needed Bellamy to play along. With a shy glance at him, she let her fingers trail down his arm to tangle with his. His eyes found hers, widening slightly, and she smiled.

“What Bellamy said is true. Mr. Hibbard shouldn’t be given free reign to speak that way. But,” she added, “it’s not the only reason he intervened.” She squeezed his fingers in warning. “We… uh,” she cleared her throat, not resisting the blush that took over her face. “We’ve been dating for a little while now. So… when Jonah said that…” She trailed off with a shrug. “Bellamy was just being protective.”

She bit her lip, trying to keep her expression neutral and innocent. Raven’s voice sounded in her mind. _No one can resist those wide baby blues. People always underestimate you._ Bellamy had leaned forward in his chair, his head dropping low as if he couldn’t believe what she was saying. And maybe he couldn’t. Or maybe he was trying not to laugh. But still his fingers clutched hers tightly.

Clarke kept her gaze squarely on the adults. The counselor was already on her side. She could tell by the way she kept trying not to smile while her eyes darted between the two of them. The vice principal had appeared dubious before, but after her words even his face had softened. And, she remembered absently, he _did_ have two daughters of his own at home. Bellamy had hit a nerve.

As she’d expected, the principal was the toughest sell. “I just have one more question,” he said quietly. “What took you this long to come forward?”

She’d been waiting for that one. Her head ducked sheepishly. “I know. I should have said something earlier. But part of me was just so mad that he would do something so stupid.” She sent an exasperated smile at Bellamy, whose mouth lifted briefly. His eyes glinted with mischief. “I honestly didn’t think he’d get anything worse than detention.” 

She chewed her lip as she looked at the principal, trying to focus on him and not on how Bellamy’s thumb was rubbing circles on her skin. 

Finally, he nodded. “We appreciate your coming in, Ms. Griffin. If you don’t mind, we’ll ask you to sign a statement as well.” 

“Of course.”

When she was done, he said, “We’ll take a few days to discuss the best course of action. Mr. Blake, we’ll be in touch.”

“Looking forward to it.” Bellamy pulled Clarke to her feet. She smiled and thanked them all again before letting him tug her out of the office.

The moment they were outside, Clarke opened her mouth to explain and instead found herself enfolded in his arms, his lips sliding warmly over hers. Her small gasp quickly became a sigh, her hands locking around his neck as she stretched eagerly to her tiptoes to return the kiss. Bellamy’s hand tangled into her hair, pulling her braid loose.

When he finally drew back, he was looking at her in sheer wonder. Clarke clutched his shoulders, thankful he was still holding onto her. She wasn’t sure her knees would hold up on their own. 

“What was that for?” She whispered.

Bellamy smiled, leaning down to kiss the corner of her mouth. “Gotta keep up appearances, right?”

An astonished laugh flew past her lips. Still grinning widely, he placed a lighter kiss on her cheek, lingering and soft, then tucked his face against her neck and squeezed her in a hug so hard her ribs felt it. 

“Thank you,” he breathed.

Clarke smiled into his shoulder and stretched to her toes, returning the embrace just as tightly. “You’re welcome.” 

~~~~~~~~

Three days later, she was wedged in a corner of the stage, halfway up a stepstool as she decorated one of the large background murals. Her back to the door, she didn’t see Bellamy stride cheerily into the auditorium and right up the steps, stopping just a foot behind her.

“Need some help, princess?”

Clarke yelped and teetered on the stool, sending a glare his way as she threw her arms out for balance. “Haven’t you learned not to do that by now?”

His laughter echoed off the walls even as he put his hands on her waist to steady her. Little did he know it did the exact opposite. Clarke took a step down, then paused, still on the stool. “Wait. Where have you been all this time? And why are you so happy?”

“I’m not allowed to be happy?”

“Bellamy.”

He grinned, his eyes alight. “ _I_ just came from a Very Important Meeting,” he announced, wagging his eyebrows.

Clarke grabbed his shoulders. “No! What happened?” In the same breath, she asked, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was ambushed after chem,” he explained. “Just had a note delivered to class saying I was to report at 3:30. So I ran.” He stood there with that same smile on his face, watching her impatience grow with every passing moment. Finally she hit his chest. 

_“Well?!”_

Bellamy produced a folded paper from his back pocket with a flourish. “I’m a free man.”

Clarke squealed and flung her arms around him. His chest rumbled with another laugh as he caught her easily, lifting her off the stepstool. His arms surrounded her in a wonderfully tight hold, keeping her suspended in the air a few moments longer. 

When her feet finally touched solid ground, she pulled back. “That’s wonderful, Bellamy. I’m so glad to hear it.”

“Couldn’t have done it without you, princess.” He tucked her hair behind her ear, gently cradling her cheek. One arm was still curled around her waist. Unwittingly, her gaze drifted to his mouth. Was he going to kiss her again? Did she want him to?

_God, yes._

“Bell!”

They sprang apart at Octavia’s shout. His sister dashed up the steps and wrapped Bellamy in a hug, swaying. Clarke began to inch away, but to her surprise, Octavia came for her next. She automatically returned her friend’s embrace, looking questioningly at Bellamy over her shoulder. 

He shrugged. “She pulled it out of me.”

“So,” Octavia set her hands on her hips, turning to face him. “Does this mean you’re officially off dance duty now?”

Clarke ducked her head to hide her frown. Of course, now that Bellamy was no longer in detention (or worse), he wasn’t required to be here. Something in her saddened at the thought of going back to their old ways. She’d gotten used to his side commentary, his strong presence, his teasing. She’d even gotten used to being called princess.

Bellamy hummed thoughtfully. “No,” he finally said. Clarke looked up in surprise. “I think I’ll stick around," he continued, eyes flicking over to her. "You won me over.” 

Octavia clapped her hands together and hugged him again. He chuckled and returned it, but his gaze remained on Clarke.

Then his sister was skipping down the steps again with a wave as she disappeared out the door, leaving them alone. Clarke was rooted to the spot, unable to hide her joyful grin. Bellamy stepped closer, his arms sliding around her.

“What do you say, princess? Mind if I stick around?”

Clarke yanked his mouth down to hers in answer.


	2. Boom Clap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Repost of a Tumblr ficlet: Clarke’s heart does everything it can to keep her upright every day - enter Bellamy Blake, who ensures that even the best-laid plans go to waste.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably one of the most AU things I've written. It’s told in first-person POV as Clarke’s heart. Totally understand if that turns some people off, but I couldn’t get this idea out of my head. I have 3 other scenarios that I was considering reworking in this form, so, if you do read, I’d love to know your thoughts. Thanks to _keywordlydia_ for all the encouragement! Hope you enjoy :)

The morning had been going so well. 

No falls, no crazy injuries, no strange attacks. No dreams. Which in turn meant no need for me to do damage control, no need to worry about the twin airbags Jekyll and Hyde, no need to vehemently pump out blood to Clarke’s limbs so that she can _act_ even while in the midst of thinking - something she does far too much, despite my tired protests.

But up until five seconds ago, everyone had been operating rather smoothly. I was actually quite proud. And then.

Bellamy Blake. 

As if that wasn’t enough, Bellamy Blake with a child.

In a word - mayhem.

The vocal chords are the first to go. Clarke’s conversation with Harper comes to an abrupt halt while her vision’s assaulted with the image of that stormcloud of a boy and his nephew strapped to his chest in some sort of sling. Next to step out of line are the facial muscles, curling upwards so hard that Harper takes one look and slips away, tabling the rest of their discussion for later.

Ugh. Alright, Clarke, come on, at least breathe, for christssake. _Jekyll! Hyde! Let’s move it!_

 _What the hell is going on?_ The condescending shout reverberates throughout all four chambers, momentarily stunning me before I get back to work.

Oh, my favorite companion (not) has finally shown up: Logic (otherwise known as Clarke’s brain).

 _A little busy here!_ I reply, furiously willing blood into the pulmonary arteries.

_It’s Bellamy. Why did we stop moving?_

_You just answered your own question. It’s freaking_ Bellamy. 

A long pause, during which I take the time to pump as much blood as possible to the aorta, hoping it gets to her legs before they give out entirely. Clarke is not one for fainting, really, and thank goodness for that. Still… this boy always finds a way to surprise me. 

_I don’t get it,_ Logic finally replies. 

Ugh, I hate Logic. Useful, sometimes, for sure. Clearly not at the moment.

_Look, can you just do your job and make sure the little acapellas are ready to go? He’s coming over, and she needs to be able to speak._

Bellamy has just finished scolding a younger guard, an action completely at odds with the way he soothes a hand down his little nephew’s back. He’s a walking paradox, the one thing Clarke can’t figure out, no matter how many times I scream the answer at her.

“Morning, Clarke.” His baritone of a voice practically sings through her veins, and yet she remains clueless. I swear, this girl.

She squints up at him in the bright sunlight. “H-hi.” _Win for the vocal chords._

 _“Princess!”_ the nickname echoes loud and high-pitched from Kai, Bellamy’s nephew. His uncle had seen to it that he’d learned that word almost as soon as he could speak, and now it sends a happy little glow through her. 

_Come on, legs._ Clarke moves to stand at his shoulder, peering down at the little boy. 

“Hey there little fella. Found a new seat, did you?” _Aaaand, full sentence. Nice._

“Lincoln’s idea,” Bellamy explains, adjusting the strap slightly. “He said since I’ve been babysitting so much this might make things easier as his legs get longer. And my shoulders could use the break now and then.” He grins, a flash of teeth nearly brighter than the sun, and _good golly, Clarke, how are you so blind?_

(Short answer: Logic.)

The smile she returns is too shaky - _get your shit together, levators_ \- because Bellamy frowns and leans down close, and-- Oh, fuck. That woodsy scent, combined with his general musk and leather from his jacket. That really doesn’t help matters one bit. 

“You alright, Clarke? You look a little pale. Well, more than usual I mean,” he amends, and that gets him a halfhearted slap on the arm. _Finally! Reflexes, you guys are on point._ He grins again, relieved. “Aha! There she is.”

_Alright, come on now, pull it together everyone._

It’s a concerted effort, but Clarke rolls her eyes -- _do not linger on that chin dimple, so help me god_ \-- “Yeah, yeah. So what’s on the agenda for you guys today?”

If I could sigh gratefully, believe me, I would.

“I’ve gotta finish making my rounds of the guards, then Kane and David want to look over some maps with me and Miller. Possibly a quick trip to the lake with this one.” He pats Kai. “What about you?”

_Full paragraph, let’s go. In 3… 2… 1…_

“Mom needs me in medical for the morning, but after that I was thinking of heading out with Raven for a bit. It’s been a while since she got to leave camp, with Kyle being sick and all. I think it’d do her good.”

_Liftoffff!_

Bellamy’s nodding before she finishes. “Please, _please_ take her.” He makes a shooing motion, chuckling when she shoves him right back. “Seriously, she’s been insufferable. It’s like she’s had cabin fever or something ever since we put those walls up.”

“Princesssssss,” Kai reaches a stubby arm out to grasp her hair. _Ow! Damn kid, you’re cute, but come on._ Clarke winces, her hand immediately covering his and trying to untangle his little fingers. _Softly guys, softly!_

“Hey buddy, careful there.” Bellamy’s reprimand is quiet but firm as he knocks Clarke’s hand out of the way, deftly undoing the grip his nephew has on the long strands. For a moment, his own hand lingers, following the path of her hair over her shoulder and sweeping down her arm. 

It’s like everyone stops working at once.

Jekyll and Hyde catch in place, holding onto air she desperately needs; Logic is predictably silent and confused; therefore so is every single muscle group; I’m pretty sure even _I_ skip a damn beat. I’m ready to call mayday and give in. 

Then Bellamy seems to catch himself and pull back, a hand resting atop Kai’s head instead. _Whew. False alarm, guys. Carry on._ His eyes glitter as she takes a deep gulp of air. “Can’t have the princess going bald now, can we?” Laughing, he ducks just as Clarke’s arm rises to cuff him.

_Reflexes, plus 2. Everyone else, negative 5._

His nephew is giggling wildly too, even as he squeaks, “Sorry princess!”

Clarke folds her arms in front of her and glares, though it’s without any real force seeing as her lips are basically going to be curled upwards for life in Bellamy’s presence. 

“You’ve been spending too much time with your uncle,” she tells the boy. 

Bellamy’s eyes light up. Okay, fine, Logic gets a point. Bellamy _does_ love being called that. Beaming, he touches his lips to Kai’s forehead for a moment. The simple motion is so sweet and loving… yep, Logic is once again useless. Good to know some things never change.

While I’m trying to keep everyone in check, Kai leans up to whisper into Bellamy’s ear. He listens thoughtfully, then nods. Oh, boy. I know that look.

“When do you have to go to medical?” He asks.

This response, thankfully, is automatic. “Not for another hour. Mom said she’d send Harper to find me when she’s ready. Why?”

Kai and Bellamy sent her identical delighted smiles that make _me_ swoon. Good lord. _We’re fine, we’re fine,_ I tell the alarmed vessels around me. I force myself to calm down, trying to get her pulse back to normal.

“In that case, we insist that you join us for breakfast,” Bellamy declares. _Extra time with him? There goes my morning._ At Clarke’s hesitation, he nudges her with a sly grin. “Come on, princess. I heard they’ve got strawberries today…” he sings.

Oh _now_ Sir Cookie Monster has awakened, and yeah, once hunger intervenes… it’s over. We’re so going.

“Really?” She asks, unable to keep the hopefulness from her voice.

Bellamy wiggles his eyebrows invitingly. “You’ll never know unless you come with us.”

 _Guys, at least try to resist,_ I plead. Clarke releases a small sigh of exasperation, which is the most I can hope for at the moment. But then Bellamy’s hand closes around hers to “drag” her along, and… yeah, there’s no faking that. 

Sorry girl, your pulse is gonna be elevated for a while.


	3. Hired to Kill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **distinctlydottyaura** : "My apologies, upon closer inspection it turns out that you are not the person I was hired to kill.’ AU and ‘I’m intrigued; the last three attempts on my life were much better funded and prepared."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was such fun!! Sorry I held onto this forever, but I hope you enjoy! :)

“Alright, I’m in.”

Clarke held her breath as the static crackled over the headset. Her eyes were focused intently on the screen in front of her, which showed a blueprint of the building Bellamy was currently infiltrating. He was the blinking green dot at the bottom left corner, slowly making his way up the maze-like design of what they’d figured out was the Grounders’ headquarters.

Grounders. Couldn’t they have been more clever? 

“It’s better than Arkers,” came Bellamy’s amused whisper. Clarke jumped, unaware she’d spoken aloud. As usual he was attuned to her mood. “Relax, princess. I’m at the first door. Where to?”

“Right, all the way to the end of the hall.” She followed the little dot’s motion on her screen. “You should see a stairwell, to your left. Get to the third level.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Clarke rolled her eyes. He was just talking because he knew it calmed her to hear his voice. Normally, they’d both be dead silent, communicating with glances and hand signals born with the ease of being partners for years.

But today, she wasn’t by his side. She couldn’t have his back. Instead, she was stuck at home with half her leg in a cast, elevated on some cushions. 

In other words-- useless.

After severely pestering the comm crew - fine, maybe she leveled a few threats too - she had at least managed to get herself a headset and desk support. If she couldn’t be physically next to Bellamy for such a mission, she’d sure as hell be in his ear the entire time. Raven had promised to be his literal backup, leading a team from the air while he quietly snuck in from below. Miller was approaching from the ground too, though his progress was more questionable seeing as the lake had effectively silenced his earpiece.

And so it was Clarke’s job to direct Bellamy through the maze until he found the room where the weapons transaction was in progress. Without any of the Grounders’ henchmen finding _him._

It was like a fucked up game of Pacman.

“Think of it as Mario Kart instead,” Bellamy suggested, and she nearly knocked over her coffee mug again.

“Stop doing that! And Mario Kart makes no sense,” she added belatedly.

“It totally does. Except I’m Luigi, not Mario, and instead of trying to find the princess I’m trying to find Bowser.” She knew what his next words were going to be before they came out. “Because I already got the princess, you see.” 

Clarke didn’t fight the smile that stretched her lips. It wasn’t like anyone could see her anyways.

“You’re an idiot,” she informed him. “And that still isn’t Mario Kart. You’re describing one of the other thousand Mario games. To your right, past the fire escape.”

The green dot turned right. “Suddenly an expert, are we?”

“You have only yourself to blame. Since you thought video games and pizza equaled a date.”

“You agreed! In fact, I believe your exact words were--”

He cut off abruptly, and she leaned forward, fear clawing at her insides. The green dot was frozen in the corner. "Bell? What is it?" No reply. Her screen wasn't showing anything. She pushed her panic aside. "One tap for yes, two for no. Are you alone?"

Two taps.

"Shit. I can't see them." She cursed again, then bit out sharply, “Ark, what’s going on? Why can't I see these damn heat signatures?"

"Something must be blocking our signal," came Jasper's apologetic response. "I told you, we don't know the interior that well, there could be any sort of--"

He cut off as three red dots floated onto the screen suddenly, far too close to the green dot for Clarke's liking. "Three. There's three," she reported. "Stay put, Bellamy. Ark, where the hell is that distraction?”

“I’m working on it,” was Monty’s distracted reply.

“Well work on it faster!”

“Clarke,” Bellamy said softly, at the same time that Jasper said, “Hey!”

She put a hand to her forehead, forcing herself to take a deep breath. “Sorry Monty,” she mumbled. “Just… please hurry.”

“I am,” he promised. “Five minutes.”

“How’s it looking, princess?” Bellamy’s voice was a low murmur. She re-focused on the screen, watching the red dots move slowly down the hallway he was just in. With baited breath, she waited until they headed through a different door, moving down a hallway that ran parallel to where Bellamy was hidden. They didn’t seem to be aware of anything off - they were moving too slow to be tailing. Likely a patrol.

“Stay put for another 30 seconds, then take the ramp down. I’ll guide you from the lower levels until we get close.”

“Copy that.”

As instructed, his dot remained steady for the full 30 seconds - okay maybe like 20, but it was more than he normally listened - and then he was on the move again.

“Jasper, what’s the ETA on Raven’s team?” She asked.

“Less than 10 minutes out. She doesn’t want to risk them hearing the choppers before Bellamy’s ready.”

“Got it. Hang a left, Bell. Straight past the double doors, and then follow that hallway until you see an emergency exit sign.”

Bellamy offered a grunt in reply. The green dot moved faster now. Clarke kept an eye on the rest of the unit. Aside from a few strays, most of the heat signatures were isolated to a specific section. Likely where the transaction would take place. That was the only unknown - exactly how many people would be in that meeting. It was entirely possible that Bellamy was walking into a minefield. Without anyone at his side.

Clarke heaved a sigh, rubbing her neck. The green dot on her screen paused. 

“Clarke?” 

“You’re fine, keep going.” He didn’t. _”Go,_ Bell,” she gritted out. 

Bellamy finally moved, albeit slower than before. “Something’s wrong.” 

“Nothing important.”

“It’s you. It’s important,” he said, and she smiled faintly at his stubbornness. 

“It’s fine. I just can’t help thinking I should be there,” she grumbled, unable to hide the catch in her voice.

“Not with those crutches. You’d never make it up the stairs in time, let alone be quiet about it.” When she didn’t answer, Bellamy sighed. “You know it’s for the best.”

“I know.” Raking a hand through her hair, she concentrated on the screen in front of her. “Okay, in about five steps there’s some kind of adjoining hallway, and it doesn’t look like there’s a door, so just be careful.”

“Always am.”

“Sure, just like you were careful in Hawaii? Or how about that time in Seattle? Or maybe like you were careful in Toronto--”

“Hey now, the one in Toronto was partly your fault.”

“My fault!?” She squeaked.

“If you hadn’t _attacked_ me--” Bellamy began.

"For the thousandth time, I was undercover, and under orders," she hissed. "I had to do it or my cover would've been blown!"

"And yet you got me confused with your target!”

“Not my fault you all looked alike in those stupid construction outfits. Yellow hardhat and blue suit isn’t exactly helpful.”

“Like I said, just creating more trouble for me."

“You want trouble, I’ll give you--”

"Guys!" Raven's voice echoed through urgently. "Can we table the flirting for later? Kinda busy here!"

“I tried to warn you,” came Jasper’s lame addition.

“Shut up,” they both replied, but Clarke was grinning and she knew Bellamy was too. 

~~~~~~~

_Five years ago_

The blonde had her elbow at his throat and the point of her gun digging into his ribcage in near record time. Bellamy cursed himself for paying more attention to the sway of her hips in that tight dress than the weapons likely concealed under them. He stood stiffly against the wall, arms raised.

“Fuck,” she swore suddenly.

Bellamy nearly laughed. This tiny little woman could use a gun and curse? If said gun wasn’t pointed at him, he might have asked her out.

Something about her was tugging at his memory, but he was too distracted by the way her eyes had widened, uncertainty crossing her features. Before he could ask, she dragged him into a nearby broom closet and shut the door. Suddenly his windpipe wasn’t being crushed anymore.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed. “Looks like I--”

She cut off with a grunt as he reversed their positions, shoving her against the closed door none too gently and twisting her arm. Grimacing, she dropped the gun to the floor with a clatter. He kicked it away, then grabbed her hands when she tried to squirm away.

“Who the fuck are you?” He asked lowly.

“I was trying to tell you, before you manhandled me,” she shot back.

“I believe you’re the one who put a gun to my chest, so excuse me if I’m not a gentleman.” He wrapped his fingers at the base of her throat. It was mostly in warning, but she stiffened anyways. “As you were saying?”

Her blue eyes glared back as if _he_ was the idiot, but then she huffed out a frustrated sigh, sagging against the door.

“My apologies.” It sounded like the words took quite the effort, and he tried not to grin. She was as keen on apologizing as he was. “It seems, upon closer inspection, that you are not the person I was hired to kill.”

Bellamy’s eyebrows shot up. She was staring back defiantly, though there was an undercurrent of embarassment in her expression. This was not a person who was used to making mistakes. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that she was good at her job. Whatever that was.

Finally he said, “I’m intrigued. The last three attempts on my life were much better funded and prepared.”

She blinked, taken aback. Then she threw her head back and laughed, and this time he let himself grin with her.

“Only three?” She asked, eyes twinkling. 

“It’s been a slow year.”

Her bottom lip was caught between her teeth as she tried to stop another grin. It failed. Bellamy allowed himself to stare for a moment, lingering on the little beauty mark that was begging to be kissed. All things considered, she was damn beautiful. 

Then she pushed against his grip a little, testing. He didn’t budge. 

“So, princess, how about you tell me what you actually do?”

She wrinkled her nose. “My name is Clarke Griffin,” she corrected. “Counterterrorism.” 

“No shit?” That _was_ impressive. “That’s… awesome.”

“Well I think so,” Clarke’s grin faded. “But like I said before, you weren’t my mark.” She tilted her head. “Though clearly I stumbled onto another agent. Let me guess, you’re one of Jaha’s boys?”

He didn’t answer, but it was enough for her.

“Interesting. I know Kane and Jaha really enjoy their dick wars, but it’s not like either of them to leave out such an important detail. Unless…” An eyebrow arched high. “Don’t tell me you went rogue?”

Bellamy smirked. “I’m reckless, not stupid.” Before she could open her mouth to argue that they were probably one and the same, he said, “And for the record, it’s a need-to-know mission. And right now, I need to know: who was your mark?” 

“You seriously haven’t figured it out yet? Thought you were sneaky, not stupid.”

Affronted, he opened his mouth to reply, and then stopped. A number of images floated through his mind - of a certain impeccably dressed blonde flirting up a storm with his coworker. 

_”Toby?”_

She nodded. “Tobias Grenier has been in constant contact with an arms leader, codename Heda.” When his astonishment didn’t fade, she became puzzled. “What? Why are you st-- _Oh._ Well. Fuck me.” Her head thudded back against the door. “He’s _your_ mark too?”

“He’s our only link to the Trikru cartel down south. Best lead we’ve had in over a year.”

“Narcotics. Damn.” She grinned, pleased. Bellamy was entirely lying if he said it didn’t do wonders for his ego.

He finally removed his hand from her throat, noting the flash of relief in her eyes, but it was only to trap her other wrist against the door. 

“For your information, Toby has a huge diamond in his left ear,” he said a bit smugly. “A souvenir from his latest mission. That’s a pretty big detail to miss, Detective.”

“And _you_ have a pierced ear,” she shot right back. “How was I supposed to know he didn’t just leave the stupid earring out for a day?” She managed to look appraising despite being literally locked in his hold. “Wouldn’t have picked you to have any piercings.” Her eyes raked across him bluntly, a catlike smile curling her lips. “Now tattoos, definitely.”

“Drunk dare.” God, she was smart and witty _and_ good with a gun. “Don’t tell me you can’t relate, princess.” 

“I plead the fifth,” she said primly, and he grinned. “In any case, Toby was supposed to be on shift right now, not you. These damn uniforms all look the same, and you two are practically identical in build.” 

That much was true. It was partly why he'd been chosen for the mission. If it ever came down to impersonating the man - which wasn't out of the question - it had to be believable. Bellamy had just never anticipated this particular scenario.

“Even so, I can’t let you kill him.”

Clarke rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t actually going to kill him, dummy. Just make it look like I did, and then disappear with him. He’s getting shipped back stateside.”

That made him pause. “What, you think you can turn him?”

“I _know_ I can.” Her confidence wasn’t a facade; she’d done this before, with success. Clarke sighed a little. “Look, we’ve been in here too long already, and I need to call my boss to figure out what the hell to do now. My badge is in my boot.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not going to let me out of here unless you see proper ID, right?” She pointed downwards. “My boot.”

“Your boot,” he repeated slowly.

“Well I’m not exactly handing it out for free,” she snarked. Bellamy was grinning freely by this point. Princess was quite the firecracker. He liked her. A lot.

But he couldn’t properly examine the ID, let alone reach for it, without letting go of both her wrists, effectively freeing her.

His eyes narrowed. “I’m going to be pissed if you dropkick me when I let go.”

She shrugged. “Guess you’ll have to take your chances then.”

Grinning, Bellamy pressed a little closer, until their bodies were flush together and he could watch her pink lips part in surprise. He leaned down until their mouths were inches apart.

“I think you’re worth the risk, princess.”

~~~~~~~

In the present, Clarke studied the floor plan on her screen, zooming into any blind spots. “Careful around the corner. The blueprint isn’t very detailed here for some reason. Possible construction. I’m not sure what you’ll find.”

“Copy. Maybe we-- fuck.” 

Clarke gripped her laptop as a shout echoed through the speakers, and then two quick _pops._ Shots. From whose gun, she had no idea. She stayed silent for as long as possible, trying not to make things worse for him. Finally she said his name once, a tentative breath, her eyes shut tight.

All she heard was panting in her ear. She waited, and waited, until Bellamy wheezed, “Any closets nearby?”

“Um…” Her eyes scanned through the plan. “Yeah. Take the next left and it should be the second door.”

She nearly bit her thumbnail to the core before his response filtered through. “I’m in. Can’t stay long though. Where the hell is Reyes?”

“Incoming in 5, Blake.”

He huffed. “So I can’t just blow this thing?”

“Bellamy.” Clarke said it sternly, though her voice shook. “Are you hurt?”

“I look better than the other guy.”

Monty’s voice crackled over the radio. “I’m ready when you are.”

“Thank god,” Clarke breathed. “Bell, the hall’s clear if you want to get up to five right now. I don’t know how much time you have. I’m only seeing one other heat signature, but he’s still two floors below you. I don’t know if he heard anything.”

“Alright.” The green dot was moving again, much faster now. “Guys, I’m going in. Are you ready?”

A new voice interrupted the comm. “Hang on now, I want in on the fun.”

Clarke nearly laughed in relief. “Nate! Where the hell have you been? We thought your radio shorted in the lake!”

“It did. Good thing my boyfriend’s a genius and hid a second one in my pack.”

“Love you too,” Monty replied distractedly.

“Okay seriously you guys have got to stop,” Raven ordered. “Blake, I’m bringing the party.”

“Awesome. I’m almost to five. Miller?”

“Working my way down. I’ll meet you there in a minute.”

Clarke didn’t realize she was holding her breath until her cellphone rang, the song blaring through the living room and nearly giving her a heart attack. She took one look at her mom’s picture and hit the red button. There was plenty of time for that later.

Her eyes remained glued to the screen as the dots got closer to each other. This, unfortunately, was where she could do nothing, simply wait and watch how it all played out and say every prayer she could think of. Raven was giving clipped updates, and Bellamy had gone completely silent as he neared. So had Miller. 

It was at this moment Clarke wished she was at least at work, hunched over her desk with Jasper at her shoulder and Kyle furiously pacing in the background. She knew that’s exactly what they were doing now, because she’d been there before. Though most of the time, she was in the field with Bellamy.

“I’ve got a visual.” Bellamy’s voice was pitched as low as possible. “Eight hostiles in the corner. Looks like they’re conferring. Three patrols--”

“I saw four,” Miller interrupted. 

“There were. Now there’s three,” Bellamy said. “The east entrance will be open in 30 seconds if you can make it. They’re sending two guys up to the roof. I think they heard you, Raven.”

“We’ll take care of it,” she answered. “Just stay ready.”

The next few minutes were a blur. All Clarke could hear was static and the occasional grunt as Bellamy and Miller moved swiftly through the room. Her eyes were trained on his little green dot, her heart in her throat as she sat and waited, feeling utterly useless. A few _pops_ sounded soon enough, followed by the more rapid _pop pop pop_ of a machine gun that had her gripping the cushion. 

Her bottom lip was ragged by the time the comm crackled to life again.

“Five’s all clear.” Raven, sounding like she’d had far too much fun. Which, she probably had. "Got a few friends coming along for the ride back."

“Weapons are secure,” Bellamy confirmed. He didn’t sound hurt, but Clarke knew better than most how well he was able to mask injuries over the comm.

“Please tell me this means I get to stay dry on the way home,” Miller pleaded.

“No promises,” they all replied.

Clarke closed her eyes for a moment, letting her head droop in relief. “Nice work, guys. Don’t worry about the write-ups until tomorrow. I told Kane he’ll have them by end of week.” She listened for everyone’s agreement, then added, “And Bell?”

“Hmm?”

“Get your ass home.”

“Yes ma’am.”

~~~~~~~

Bellamy turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open gingerly, not wanting to disturb Clarke in case she was asleep. He needn’t have worried. The scent of coffee hit his nostrils immediately, pulling his eyes to the fresh pot on the counter and then the red mug on the table. His wife was stretched out on the couch, blonde tresses spilling overtop the arm. Her left leg was elevated with the help of the fluffy maroon pillows she’d convinced him to buy just a few months ago.

Clarke smiled, tired but content. “Hey you.”

“Hey.” He shrugged off his coat and dropped his binder of paperwork on the counter, immediately going to her. He was careful not to jostle her leg as he sat down on the couch. “So Detective Kane passed on a very important message when I got back. My wife said she wants me home, no excuses?”

Clarke shrugged, her mouth lifting at a corner. “Well, it was true. Got you out of there, didn’t it?”

Chuckling, Bellamy braced an arm on the back of the couch, leaning forward to drop a kiss on her lips. “It was weird not having you next to me today,” he murmured, burying his face into her neck.

“I know.” Her hand soothed through his hair. “I didn’t like it either.”

“But you still had my back.”

She hummed. “Always will.” Tugging his head up, she kissed him deeply. “Trust me, I plan to be out there bossing you around again very soon.”

“You were bossing me around over the phone,” he grinned.

“Fine. In person then.”

He sighed and touched his forehead to hers. “I can’t wait.”


	4. The New Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the second he sees her, Bellamy knows there's something off about the new housemaid - he just can't pinpoint what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Between re-reading A Countess Below Stairs (totally recommend, btw) and re-watching Downton, I really couldn't resist.

“That’s the new girl. Clarke something.”

Harper’s whisper echoes in his ear as he’s checking to make sure his shirt is tucked in properly. Looking up, Bellamy sees her thumb jab towards the servants’ dining area, where a blonde stands talking to Mrs. Hanigan. She’s certainly dressed the part, in the black uniform and white apron of the house staff, but even the kerchief keeping back her long tresses can’t hide the sharpness in her eyes.

“You sure about that?” He asks.

“That’s what I heard. Why?”

His eyes narrow, assessing her as she nods eagerly at whatever the head housekeeper is saying. “Look at the way she stands straight, lifts her chin. Do you know anyone else who looks directly at Mrs. Hanigan when she’s talking?” His gaze drifts downwards. “I’d bet my dinner that her hands are softer than Octavia’s. She’s probably never seen hard work in her life.”

“Then why is she here?” Harper inquires.

Bellamy shrugs and turns back to the task at hand. “Beats me. As long as she doesn’t get in my way, I don’t particularly care.”

~~~~~~~~

Clarke doesn’t get in his way at all. She’s infuriatingly polite to everyone, including him, and adept at whatever they ask her to do. Even if it is washing the third floor with nothing but a rag and a bucket. He sees her hands that first night, raw and chapped, and knows he was right about her lack of previous work.

It doesn’t give him as much satisfaction as he expected.

She’s not a loud sort at all, and yet whenever she enters a room his eyes are drawn to her for some unknown reason. She greets everyone with the same little curtsy but continues to look directly at them when they talk, until one day she catches him staring in the mirror. Her behavior doesn’t change immediately, but she seems more aware of him after that.

Then she becomes friends with his little sister, and Bellamy knows it’s over.

Octavia has always been cheerful, but having someone to talk to daily, to teach the daily chores—she all but radiates pride as she explains each task to Clarke, who of course is the perfect attentive student. Bellamy often hears their low murmuring as they work, and sometimes he thinks he even hears singing - definitely not O - but he can’t find fault in it, as much as he wants to.

Later, his sister all but skips around the rooms she’s dusting, relating every tale her new best friend has told her, down to the minutia. “And did you know she’s been to a ball? A real ball, Bellamy. With petticoats and gentleman and—”

“Don’t forget the top of the wardrobe,” he interjects.

“And she loves music so much, she knows all sorts of things about chords and melodies. Her dad used to put on records and they’d dance--”

“I’m sure they did.”

She shoots him a look as she steps onto a chair to reach the spot. “Why do you insist on not liking her? She’s a nice person, you know.”

Bellamy knows. She’s nice and courteous and dutiful—but it’s too practiced for his liking. She doesn’t look at the house in wonder, like the rest of them do. He’s almost positive it’s because she grew up in something similar. And while she tries hard, her lack of knowledge in the kitchen is a flag for him. This is a girl who hasn’t had to cook for herself before. Even the youngest of the servants can at least boil a kettle.

Her stitches, however—those are impeccable, even better than Harper’s, which is saying something. The first time he sees his mended shirts folded neatly on his cot, he does a double take, knowing it has to be her handiwork. And he knows nobody learns stitching like that as a servant.

“Both her parents are gone, you know.” Octavia’s reprimand breaks through his thoughts. “She’s an orphan.”

 _Just like us._ She doesn’t say the words out loud, but he hears them anyways.

After a week of mostly grunting and nodding, he goes for a walk at night to clear his head. The house sits on a small hill, the slope in the back running down to a pond where they use to splash as kids. Now, the walks give him peace from the daily chaos, a chance to just breathe. 

But of course, who does he find but Clarke, sitting curled up by the water’s edge in her shift and a large blanket over her shoulders. Bellamy considers reversing course, but when she turns her head and those piercing blue eyes find him, he only moves closer.

She stands uncertainly and begins to curtsy, but he waves her off.

“No need for that. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“You didn’t.” She smiles then, hesitant but genuine all the same, and he’s struck by it. “I like to sit out here some nights, when the weather agrees.”

He offers a noncommittal hum in reply. After a second, he settles down beside her, watching her from the corner of his eye. The skin on her hands is already hardening, becoming work-worn callouses with each passing day. She doesn’t look so fragile as he once thought—or maybe it’s just the moonlight playing tricks. Still, the square of her shoulders and neatness of her braid nag at his mind.

“Octavia talks about you all the time.” Clarke breaks the silence with another smile. “She says you raised her here?”

Bellamy looks out at the water. It’s easier. “My mom worked here while she was pregnant with O. But she got sick, a little after the birth, and the doctors couldn’t help.” He starts when Clarke’s hand closes over his, but she doesn’t let go. “Mrs. Hanigan and the rest of the staff were kind enough to let us stay. They gave us a home and work for life. I’ll always be grateful.”

He hadn’t expected to say so much in one sitting. Something about this girl is making everything topsy-turvy, and he’s not sure if he likes it.

Clarke’s hand is still over his. “You’re a good person, Bellamy,” she says.

Trying to steady himself, he carefully eases his hand from under hers and places it on his knee. He misses the warmth. “So what brought you here, Clarke?”

Her eyes cloud before she glances away. “I needed work,” she answers gradually. “My dad spoke of this town a lot when I was younger. He said there were good people here.” She shrugs. “I thought I would try. Didn’t have anywhere else to go anyways.”

Bellamy can’t figure out why he’s trying so hard to poke holes in her story, but he just _knows_ something is off. She’s good, though—there’s enough truth woven in to stall suspicion.

“What was his name?”

“Jake.”

“Jake…?” He presses.

She looks at him sidelong. “Gatlin. Jake Gatlin.”

A wry smirk curls his mouth. “Try again.”

“Excuse me?” Clarke folds her arms, offended. “You don’t think I know my family name?”

“I think you absolutely know your name. You’re just choosing not to tell me. Or Mrs. Hanigan.” 

He knows he’s got her when the concern flashes through her eyes. It’s gone in a blink, though, replaced by haughtiness. 

“And I think you absolutely are an imbecile,” she retorts, and looks away, nose in the air.

Bellamy watches her, unaware of the grin on his face. Her recovery is impressive, he has to give her that. “Fine. Don’t tell me,” he says with a yawn. “But someone will figure it out soon enough.”

Clarke seems to deflate then, her shoulders sagging. In that moment, he almost wants to comfort her. 

“Why do you even care?” She asks quietly.

“I like to know who I’m working with. Besides, my sister adores you,” he says, skimming a rock over the pond. “I just don’t want her getting hurt, that’s all.”

“I wouldn’t hurt her.”

It’s a fierce, firm statement, and she meets his eyes until finally he offers a brief smile. “I know.”

~~~~~~~~

Despite himself, he begins spending more time with Clarke. Sometimes they’ll sit in silence by the pond, or he’ll find himself next to her at dinner listening raptly to an old story, or Octavia will drag them both along on her latest adventure to town.

When Clarke gets her first real dinner assignment, she's bright-eyed and hopeful, and he finds himself quietly giving her tips when they're alone. Soon they're a team, having worked out a system that works surprisingly well and keeps things running smoothly.

And… it’s nice. Clarke is unassuming and easy to be around, and aside from the matter of her name, everything that leaves her mouth is honest. Not to mention quite tart, at times, which he finds endlessly amusing. Then there’s the fact that she treats Octavia as if she was her own blood, and it’s that, more than anything, that endears her to him.

One of their trips to town happens to be on the day soldiers are visiting. He’s used to this, because there’s one soldier who always stops for Octavia, the same one who she’s practically timed her outings around now, even if she won’t admit as much. Standing a few feet away, she’s all smiles and fluttering eyelashes, and it makes something twist in the pit of his stomach because all he can see is his baby sister who used to play dress-up. Then a small calloused hand slips into his, and he finds Clarke by his side, her eyes on Octavia.

“Look at her, she’s radiant,” she says. “That’s on you, you know.”

Bellamy shuts his eyes and exhales, feeling Clarke’s grip on his hand tighten. When he looks up once more, he sees the woman in front of him beaming at the soldier, who looks downright dazed, and he realizes she’s no longer his baby sister after all. But then Octavia turns and bounds towards them, pure excitement on her face.

“That’s him! Isn’t he as handsome as I said, Clarke?” 

“He is,” Clarke agrees, eyes twinkling.

Octavia tugs at his coat next. “What do you think, Bell, does he pass the big brother test?” He laughs, ducking his head. Of course she knows what he’s thinking. “Come onnnn,” Octavia wheedles. “You know you like him.”

He kisses her cheek. “No one’s good enough for you,” he says.

Clarke is still holding his hand. “Stole the words right from my mouth,” she grins and winks at him, and his stomach fills with butterflies.

Late that night, he’s lying awake with his thoughts when he hears soft footsteps in the hall. A moment later Clarke appears in the doorway, a playful glint in her eye and a deck of cards in her hand. Grinning, he sits up and motions her inside, and it’s late in the morning hours before she finally sneaks back to her own floor, but not before she repeats what she’s been telling him almost daily since she arrived: “You’re a good brother.”

The next night, his curiosity wins out as they walk around the pond’s perimeter. “Why do you always say that?” 

“Because it’s true,” she replies. “And because you have a habit of forgetting it.” She says it with a poke to his side and a smile.

Bellamy puts his hands in his pockets. “And you’ve decided it’s your job to remind me?” 

“Someone should. Why not me?” Clarke wiggles her eyebrows, but when he stops and waits expectantly, she sighs. 

Pulling the blanket more tightly over her shoulders, she faces the house as she talks. “You remind me of an old friend. He used to look out for me the way you do for your sister. I couldn’t see it until—until later.” She finally turns to him, a bittersweet smile gracing her lips. “I didn’t tell him that enough, and sometimes I still worry that he didn’t know what he did for me. So I tell you.”

She doesn’t need to say that whoever he was is gone now. It’s written all over her face, in the fondness and the regret. Bellamy doesn’t have any words for it, nor does he know how to respond to this new piece of information about her life. So he doesn’t talk at all, just steps forward and takes both her hands in his, and they stand there for a long time without speaking.

~~~~~~~~

Bellamy can’t pinpoint exactly when his feelings begin to shift, just that they do with startling intensity. One day he walks into the kitchen to see Clarke laughing at the mess they’ve made attempting to bake lemon cake, her head thrown back and flour on her cheeks, and he stops in his tracks at the sheer force that tugs at his heart.

He’s in love with her.

He’s in love with the way she flashes her eyes at him every time he makes a comment about her last name, the way she gently guides Octavia’s stitches until they’re straighter than hers, the way she winks at him like they’re in on the same joke, the way she loops her arm through his when they’re walking to the market.

He’s in love, and he’s pretty sure she’s still not telling him something, but he’s in love.

~~~~~~~~

They’re sitting by the pond on an autumn night one week later when she says, “Griffin.”

Bellamy looks at her, not understanding. With a sigh, Clarke takes one of his hands between both of hers. “My last name. It’s Griffin.”

Griffin. It takes him a moment, but then… “As in, Governor Jaha’s advisor Griffin?” He asks, astounded. 

She nods sadly. “My mother. Abigail.”

It all clicks into place. The Griffins were close friends of the governor, who resided nearly two townships over. Bellamy only knew his name because it used to be plastered on the newspapers in Mr. Brennan's study. The Griffins were more low-key, though; their pictures were rarely included, maybe a mention here or there. And if her mom was an advisor, it was even less likely. Jaha may have been progressive; the press was not. 

But Jaha had died a little over a year ago on a trip overseas—a freak accident involving a storm and poorly built boat. His son had been with him, as had his closest advisors. Which, he now knew, included Clarke’s mom. There were no survivors.

He’d never asked the details of her parents’ death, and she hadn’t volunteered it. Until now. 

“I was supposed to go with them,” she says, gazing at her lap. “I should have been on that trip. But I got sick, and dad thought the boat would only make it worse. So I stayed back. We didn’t tell anyone.” She sniffs. “It was just one week, they said.” 

He’s still trying to recover from the first bit of news, but his brain manages to find a question all the same. “Why wouldn’t you just explain that?”

“And have them marry me off to the next available warm body? I think not. I have no relatives. I'd be someone's property.” Her anger fades as fast as it comes, and she hunches over a little. “It was the life I was born into. It doesn’t mean it was the life I wanted.”

She says it like a secret; like it's the first time she's been able to say it out loud. Now he gets it. Why she changed her name, why she came looking for anonymity. In order to start over, she needed to separate herself from the past somehow. It was her saving grace.

After a few minutes of silence, she implores, “Please don’t hate me, Bellamy.”

Bellamy wants to tell her it’s the opposite, but he just says, “Why are you telling me?”

Clarke’s smile is rueful. “Because I love you, and if you love someone, they deserve your honesty.” She recites the words in a way that makes him wonder if it was something her parents used to say.

Then he registers the first part of her sentence. His mouth drops open, and despite himself, he gawks quite stupidly, not able to believe it right away. With pink cheeks, Clarke threads her fingers with his, and waits.

“So…” his voice comes out hoarse, and he has to clear his throat twice before he can continue. “So you really want to stay here? Even after being a-- after being highborn?”

“What I wanted was to find a home again. Not to be defined by my name.” She smiles up at him. “You let me be who I am, Bellamy. That’s why I love you. Well, one of the reasons,” she adds shyly.

He knows he should tell her he loves her too, because she’s now said so twice in five minutes and it’s pretty rotten of him not to reciprocate, but he also desperately needs to kiss her, and he hopes that’ll get the message across all the same—so he does.

She sucks in a small breath of surprise as his lips find hers, and then she leans into it, kissing him back in a way he can only describe as decidedly un-ladylike. 

Bellamy does tell her that he loves her, after several long breathless kisses, but of course she knew that already.


	5. Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on this Tumblr post, which hit me square in the FEELS. Reblogged to my tumblr with my crazy tags:
> 
> http://notmylady.tumblr.com/post/131390043475/underbellamy-bellarke-au-bellamy-and-clarke-at
> 
> Set in a distant future where they're not so fucked up.

Bellamy is sitting by the fire when Clarke emerges from the hut. She’s surrounded by other Grounder women similarly dressed for the festivities, but all he can see is her.

Clarke's grinning at something Octavia whispers to her as they stroll across the grass, though she fiddles unconsciously with the wide sleeves of the white dress she wears. The fabric clings to her frame so closely that Bellamy’s mouth goes dry in a matter of seconds. A wreath of colorful flowers has been placed atop her head, bright against the yellow of her wavy tresses.

She looks every inch a princess. And she probably hates it.

He stands as they approach, and while Octavia skips by with a cheery greeting, Clarke stops several feet away. Her nerves are out in full force, teeth worrying her bottom lip and hands already unraveling threads in her dress. Bellamy closes the distance between them.

“Don’t say it, or I’ll shoot you,” Clarke warns.

Bellamy grins widely. “With what, exactly?”

She sticks out her tongue, though she’s smiling too. “I can’t believe they talked me into this.”

“Ah come on, it’s just for one evening. You know, the whole dark and light thing. Symmetry.” That was pretty much what Lincoln had said. Just, in fewer words.

“Right,” she replies dryly. “Says the guy who gets to stay in his own clothes.”

“Hey, they made me bathe and shave too.”

“Poor baby.”

He snorts as they sit down by the fire. Grumpy Clarke is quickly becoming his favorite kind of Clarke. They accept tin cups of mead, taking slow sips and adjusting to the burst of unexpected flavor.

“Say what you will about their customs, they sure do know how to put on a show,” Bellamy remarks, watching Grounders set out the drums next to the already plentiful food and drink.

“I think that’s the point. It’s just a show,” Clarke says thoughtfully. “It’s meant to impress us. They’re usually even more strict about rations than we are.”

They watch with great amusement as the other kids down their drinks—in some cases for liquid courage—before mingling with the Grounders. A few in particular seem quite taken with the Grounder women. Bellamy unsuccessfully tries to keep his eyes on them, but his gaze keeps being pulled back to Clarke. The corner of her mouth flickering in a fond smile, the unconscious tap of her fingers on her knee to music only she can hear, the dash of pink on her cheeks that he hopes is more than just a trick of the firelight.

Then he notices the goosebumps erupting along her bare arms and legs. 

“You’re cold.” 

Clarke’s head snaps towards him, eyes widening as he begins to shrug his jacket off. “What? Hey, why are you—” She cuts off as he drapes his jacket over her shoulders, rubbing her arms a bit before letting go. Still looking surprised, she pulls the coat close, huddling a little more into its warmth and sticking her arms through the sleeves. 

“Thanks,” she says, somewhat shy. He nods, too struck by the sight of her blushing in his jacket to form any words.

He doesn’t notice the glances at first, but soon even Clarke begins to look curious at the attention they’re attracting. “Why are they staring?” She asks quietly.

“I think we’re about to find out.” He nods at Daphne, the tribe’s leader, who is headed their way.

They both stand in time to greet her. “Thank you for including us in your celebration,” Clarke adds graciously.

“If we work together, then we eat together too,” Daphne replies. Bellamy doesn’t miss how her eyes linger on the jacket. She looks between them with something like renewed understanding—of what, though, he has no idea.

Then Daphne says, “I see you have already accepted a gift, Clarke.”

Confused, he and Clarke exchange a look. “I’m not sure what you mean,” Clarke says slowly.

Daphne gestures to the jacket. “This is his clothing, is it not?”

“I—uh, yes, but…” 

“So, he offered you a token and you accepted. That is the custom.” She tilts her head at the others, and Bellamy realizes with growing dread that there are more couples than not. Alarmed, he looks at Clarke, who’s come to the same conclusion. The red staining her cheeks is no longer from the fire.

“Is that why people were looking at us?” She questions. 

Daphne nods, smiling slightly. “I believe a few of ours had prepared a gift for you. And for you,” she says to Bellamy. “They did not realize you were already beholden.”

“We meant no disrespect—” Clarke begins, but Daphne holds up a hand.

“Tradition only calls for gifts. It does not dictate who or when. It seems Bellamy was most eager.”

“It’s basically a loan,” he jokes weakly, or tries to, before Clarke sends an elbow into his side. Then, effectively knocking any remaining breath from him, she slips her hand into his.

“Lucky me,” she says, a bit too brightly. “How—ah… is there any other part to this tradition?”

Bellamy wonders where she’s going with this, though his brain has pretty much stopped working anyways at this point.

“Well, naturally, if the gift is accepted, the gift-giver takes the other to his bed that night.”

Correction: _now_ his brain has stopped.

Clarke’s fingers are all but crushing his. “Naturally,” she agrees, though her face has drained of color entirely.

Daphne moves on to speak with her guards, leaving the two of them behind looking like they were just suckerpunched. A small part of his brain pipes up that holding hands with Clarke is kind of nice.

God, he’s so screwed.

He tries to catch her eyes to gauge her feelings, but she’s staring at her feet with an intense determination, like if she furrows her brow hard enough the ground might actually open up and take her away. Nudging her lightly, he tries for another joke.

“So, my place or yours?” 

Clarke huffs out the tiniest of laughs, finally looking up. He gives her his best smile, encouraged when she returns it. “Come on, let’s do some taste-testing.”

She lets him tug her over to the food, but since neither of them is that hungry anymore, they end up just refilling their cups for the rest of the night. 

“I think it’ll be enough if Daphne just sees us leave together,” Bellamy tries to reassure her.

“And where are we gonna go?” Clarke asks. “Camp isn't nearby, and we were specifically given cabins by our host. Besides, you know Daphne. She’ll have eyes everywhere.” 

She’s right, as much as he hates to admit it. “Fine,” he says. “Then just stay with me tonight. When she sees us go in and come out together, she can assume what she wants.”

Clarke nods, pursing her lips.

“Besides, it’s not like we haven’t slept beside each other before,” he reminds her. “And I don’t even smell now, thanks to their bath.” 

“That’s not true. You smell like mint,” Clarke says, much to his surprise. As if realizing she said the words out loud, she downs the rest of her drink and hurries to get more. 

~~~~~~~~

When the couples around them become more affectionate, they take that as their cue to escape, as if they’re looking for privacy. Bellamy guides Clarke around the others with a hand on her back, nodding at Daphne as they pass. Her gaze feels like a target on his back until they reach the small cabin.

When he shuts the door, Clarke says, “Thank god you gave me your jacket.”

It’s so unexpected that he grins. “Oh really?”

Clarke shoves him, then heads straight for the bed, cutting off the laugh that had formed in his throat. “Can you imagine if I had accidentally accepted someone else’s gift? For all I know it could’ve been a bowl of stew, and suddenly I have to spend the night with them?”

She sits on one side of the bed, drawing her knees to her chin.

“That _would_ happen to you,” Bellamy teases, flopping down beside her on his back. “Always so damn polite, and look what you get for it.”

She glares. “So what, I should just be grumpy all the time, like you?”

“I like Grumpy Clarke,” he says without thinking.

Clarke looks at him in surprise, then smiles and shakes her head. “You just like it because I agree with you more.”

“Grumpy Clarke does like me,” he agrees.

“I always like you, dummy.” She’s avoiding his eyes when he glances up, but still smiling. Then she begins playing with the hem of her dress again. “Not a huge fan of Lincoln at the moment, though.” 

“I think my sister’s getting to him,” Bellamy muses. “No way does he leave that detail out otherwise.”

“Unless he thought we’d never agree to it.” Clarke lays down next to him and looks at the ceiling. “I bet Octavia knew.”

“Brat. She totally did.”

Clarke pokes him, smiling gently. “She’s not a brat. She’s your baby sister, and she’s in love, and you love her.”

Bellamy stares. “How do you always do that?”

“What?”

“Make me sound like I’m not—”

“Not what?” Clarke interrupts, leaning on her elbow. She looks so fierce that he has to laugh.

“You’re doing it again,” he says.

There’s a hint of sheepishness in her smile, but she remains unapologetic. “You’re not a bad person, Bellamy,” she says, quieter. 

“Neither are you,” he counters. 

As expected, she doesn’t hold his gaze, studying the scratchy quilt instead. When she finally looks up, she says with a sad smile, “You don’t believe me.”

“And _you_ don’t believe _me.”_

She rolls her eyes, though he thinks they hold a sheen all the same. “Fine. I’ll keep saying it as long as it takes for you to believe it.”

“Right back at you,” he murmurs.

She huffs and lies back down, closer than before. Bellamy can’t help but admire her stubbornness. It nearly rivals his own—no small feat. But that’s just one of the many things that draws him to this girl. First and foremost the way she makes him feel like he might have a shot at redemption after all, slim as it is. No one’s ever had such faith in him before. 

He’s still not entirely sure he deserves it.

He’s also not sure that he deserves to be lying next to her right now. The warmth of her body is so close, so alluring. He wants to curl himself around her, tuck all her softness into his side and just drift off surrounded by Clarke and only Clarke.

And not just for this night. 

“Hey.” Clarke waves a hand in front of his face, and he refocuses. “Where’d you go?”

He shakes his head, forcing a smile. “Just… I’m glad I gave you my jacket.”

The birthmark above her mouth winks at him as she smiles back. “Me too.” Then she bites her bottom lip again, for so long that he nearly leans in and finishes the job himself. “Would you have gone through with it? If someone else...” She doesn’t finish the thought, but she doesn’t need to.

Bellamy considers it. “I guess it would depend. I mean, we worked so hard to get where we are… it’d be dumb to offend them over this one thing, you know? So, if that’s what it took to appease them—sure.”

Clarke nods, as if she was expecting as much. On this they agree. They’ll both do whatever it takes to keep their people safe.

“I wonder who wanted to give you gifts,” she giggles suddenly, rolling onto her stomach. The movement sets her body flush against his as she props her head on her arms. “I bet there’s a handful of Grounder women that want a piece of you. Maybe even a man or two.” She grins easily, and he wonders again at how comfortable they’ve become with each other. The future doctor and the janitor going nowhere.

“I could say the same for you,” he retorts, poking her side. “There were a dozen eyes on you from the moment you stepped outside that hut.”

She’s already shaking her head. “Half of them are scared of me, and the rest of them put me on a pedestal. Nobody actually knows me.”

“I do.”

He doesn’t mean for it to come out so solemn, but it does. Clarke tilts her head and studies him, her mouth curling up after a minute.

“It’s kind of nice, don’t you think?” She says. “That a tradition as simple as this was able to survive a nuclear war?”

“They do like their traditions. Did you know that every year before the winter solstice, they send out a group of hunters to bring back the thickest, healthiest tree trunk they can find?” Her fascinated expression makes him continue. “Sometimes they travel for days until they find it. And when they bring it back, it’s burned on the day of the solstice as an offering. The height of the flames symbolizes the strength of the returning sun for the spring. They use the ashes to fertilize the soil, and sometimes the elders will keep the ashes, for good fortune.”

“Wow,” Clarke breathes. “And here I am, still getting excited about leaves changing color.”

Bellamy grins. “So what? Get excited. In fact, I promise to make a huge pile, just so I can push you in.”

She shoves him half-heartedly, smiling. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn’t I?”

“Try it.” She bares her teeth, looking nearly feral. “I’ll drag you in with me.”

He’s about to say that doesn’t sound _so_ bad, but stops himself at the last second and just looks back at the ceiling, trying to ignore the sudden images of Clarke’s golden hair spread out over a bed of colorful leaves while they kiss.

There’s extra color on her cheeks when he brings himself to look at her again, and he wonders.

“How’d you learn about that?” She asks. “The log burning? Was it Echo who told you?”

There’s always something a little off about Clarke when she mentions Echo—not that she does so very often to begin with. Octavia says it’s sadness. Raven insists it’s bitterness. Monty says it’s not just one thing, but several. For the life of him, Bellamy can’t quite figure it out. 

Part of him is still so in disbelief that Clarke could ever be jealous of anyone. As impressive as Echo is, she’ll never be Clarke. He knew that well enough, and it only became more obvious when Clarke returned to them.

He wonders if he sounds strange on the few occasions he says Lexa’s name aloud.

“Bellamy?” He snaps back to reality as Clarke hovers above him, suddenly extremely close. Her hair falls on his cheeks as she taps his chin, blue eyes worried. 

“Hey—sorry.”

“What the hell just happened?” She demands.

“I just—I was thinking. It, um,” he casts around for an excuse, and finds it in the truth. “It wasn’t Echo. There was another Grounder, Talia. She was about mom’s age. She always wore this long necklace that had a pouch at the end, to hold the ashes from a log several winters ago. One night she told us how she got it. A few of us were on watch, and the rest-- well, they weren’t sleeping much anyways.”

Clarke’s eyes soften. The nightmares are prominent for all of them still, enough that most of the kids don’t sleep in their own tents anymore, but huddled together in groups or pairs wherever they finally get tired enough to doze off. And Clarke is one of them. 

After she came back, Bellamy had found her dead on her feet countless times in the med bay until one day he locked the door, set her on a cot, and climbed on beside her.

To this day, it’s still the best few hours of sleep he’s ever had. 

She sleeps within reach of either him or Raven now—usually Raven, but he finds a way to be nearby anyways.

Clarke seems satisfied with his answer, because she settles down beside him again, still on her stomach. He can feel her eyes on him, watching closely.

He changes the topic. “So tell me, is there a gift you would have considered accepting? If it came down to that?” 

Her eyes narrow, as if she knows exactly what he’s doing, but he can see her brain thinking about it anyways. Then she purses her lips, and he nearly grins—success.

“I guess… well, I could really use some more of those herbs, you know, the ones we use for poultices and—”

Bellamy chortles. _”Herbs?”_ He repeats, ignoring her fists. “You’d sleep with someone for _herbs?”_

“Shut up!” Clarke is scarlet, punching his shoulder and arm and ribs even as she tries not to laugh herself. “You know that's not what I meant! The stupid agreement limits our supply already, and—stop laughing!”

He tries, he really does, but the way she’s smiling makes him want to extend the moment. “Always so practical,” he teases. “Anyone else would have come up with something romantic, you know.”

“Your sister wouldn’t,” she says smugly. “She’d have asked for a new weapon. Or maybe even an apprentice of her own. And Raven would want a better trade agreement for her spare parts. Monroe would--” She laughs as her speech is muffled by his palm, playfully shoving him away.

“Fine, fine,” Bellamy relents. “You’re not romantic at all, alright? None of you. Just a bunch of practical, hardheaded kickass women.”

“Hardheaded?”

“I’m complimenting you. Just take it.”

Smirking, Clarke rests her head on her arms. They’re both quiet for a while, alone with their thoughts and the faint booms of the Grounder drums.

Then Clarke says, “If Echo were here, I know she’d have given you a gift.”

Bellamy’s head whips towards her so fast his neck aches. She’s back to examining a thread on her pillow, but there was no mistaking the tone of her voice that time.

“If Lexa were here she’d have given you a gift,” he replies, just as cutting.

Clarke stills, brow furrowing, and he wonders if he’s gone too far. But as usual, she surprises him. Meeting his eyes square on, she smiles, half-resigned and half-wry. 

“Touché.”

He laughs at the unexpectedness of it, and she joins in a second later, shifting to her back again, her right arm flush against his left. He looks at her, lying beside him with the bright white dress peeking out from under black leather. Their knuckles brush, the back of her hand warm against his own. After careful consideration, Bellamy takes her hand in his, linking their fingers together.

Clarke smiles brilliantly—the same smile she wore when she stood outside the camp gate, her eyes glued to him through the bars— and twists on the bed so that their joined arms are bent between them, her knees touching his thighs.

“Thanks for the gift, Bellamy,” she says softly.

He smiles, unable to look away from her until she falls asleep, and then he does too.

~~~~~~~~

When Bellamy wakes next, he can already hear the bustle of camp outside. Which means he slept long past the usual hour. It’s strange—until he figures out why. 

His earlier wish has been granted.

He’s curled around Clarke, their bodies aligned from head to toe. Her blonde hair spills over the dark leather of his jacket, curls tumbling every which way in her sleep. A few strands tickle his nose, confirming that they’re as silky as he always imagined. Still drowsy and not really thinking, Bellamy buries his nose deeper into her hair and takes a deep breath, tightening the arm that’s banded around her waist.

Clarke sighs.

Because his hand is splayed over her stomach, he feels the movement that goes along with it; he also feels it when her breaths turn uneven—no longer the pattern of deep sleep, but the uncertain rhythms of being wide awake and wrapped in an embrace.

“Clarke?”

“Yeah,” she whispers.

“Are you okay?” He speaks the words against the back of her neck, getting a slight thrill at the shiver that runs through her body.

“I’m fine,” she mumbles, though she sounds anything but.

More determined, he says, “No, you’re not.”

She grunts. “Then why’d you ask?”

“Why’d you lie?”

Clarke shifts to her back, eyes piercing. His arm loosens, but before he can pull away, her hand is on his bicep, holding him there. “Why do you think?” 

He leans up on his elbow, feeling her fingers dig into his arm in protest. Unsure of what to say, he watches her watch him. 

Ever so slowly, she leans up, closing the distance between them at a torturous pace, as if she expects him to stop her. He doesn’t move a muscle. He can’t, and even if he could, he wouldn’t, because he’s terrified to break whatever this moment might become.

His eyes drift shut when their noses brush, and feels her shaking breath on his skin. Her hand slides up to cup his jaw. The press of her lips against his is incredibly unfamiliar and incredibly right all at once. Everything sort of just—stops. They’re both frozen for a long moment, mouths simply touching, until Clarke moves, lips slanting over his, the hand on his jaw tightening imperceptibly.

Then she draws back, and his eyes open to find her laying back on the pillow, staring up at him with a sweet smile. Her hand shifts to his cheek, thumb gently stroking.

Still in disbelief, he turns so that his lips touch the center of her palm. When she doesn’t push him away, his lips slide to her wrist, pressing more firmly. Her pulse hammers. Taking confidence from that, Bellamy drops a kiss in the crease of her elbow, the smooth skin of her shoulder, pauses to open his mouth over the pulse at her neck.

Clarke squirms, impatient. He still doesn’t rush, dragging his mouth up the column of her neck and reveling in how she sinks her fingers into his hair. Mouthing at her jaw, he feels a sharp tug.

“Bellamy,” she says, somehow breathless and stern all at once. “Kiss me already.”

A huge stupid grin spreads across his face. “I don’t take orders from you.”

Then he kisses her, and even if she’s laughing at him it’s totally, completely worth every second.

Clarke kisses him like there’s nothing else in the world she’d rather be doing. Like all she wants to do is wrap her arms around his shoulders and pull his weight atop her, sneak her tongue into his mouth to find out what he tastes like. Bellamy kisses her back with equal vigor, needing her to know it's the same for him, because of course it is. Tangling one hand into her soft waves, he sets about memorizing every sound that leaves her mouth.

The knock at the door doesn’t register at first. Then Clarke’s pushing at his shoulder, murmuring an unconvincing, “Wait.”

He lifts up, meeting Clarke’s heavy-lidded stare. “The door,” she says, biting her lip. He surges down, finally taking that lip between his own teeth, and the moan she lets out in response makes him downright smug.

Somehow, the knocking continues. “Clarke? Bellamy?”

Clarke’s head drops back onto the pillow with a small huff at the sound of Daphne’s voice. Refusing to give in, Bellamy returns to trailing kisses down her neck. “Bellamy,” Clarke laughs.

“She’ll go away,” he says, nosing at the shoulder of her dress. 

“It’s Daphne. She wo—” A sigh cuts off the rest of her sentence as he finds the skin behind her ear. Her hands roam his back, tracing the muscles through his shirt before deciding she just wants it off entirely. Grinning, he lets her shove it off, then nearly chokes when she clambers into his lap, knees squeezing his hips as she kisses him to the point of dizziness.

“We have much to discuss before you return home,” Daphne insists loudly.

“Where the hell is my gun," Bellamy mutters, and Clarke laughs and bites his shoulder with a little extra sting. 

"You're not going to shoot her," she says.

"I might, if she keeps interrupting."

Rolling her eyes, she covers his mouth with her hand. "We're getting changed," she calls out. "Give Octavia the details and we'll catch up."

"Alright. But please hurry."

"Be there in five,” Bellamy yells.

“Fifteen,” Clarke amends, a wicked grin on her lips, and pushes him down on the bed.

~~~~~~~~

By the time they leave, Clarke is dressed in her normal clothes again, with one glaring exception—she keeps the jacket, and Bellamy doesn’t ask for it back.


	6. Not Your Heda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **lastdanceforyou** requested: "A bellarke scene based on your URL!" (notmylady)
> 
> This didn't turn out _exactly_ with the URL, sorry! But I couldn't get it out of my head. Hope you like it anyways :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We made it through hiatus, guys!

The coat hangs heavy on Clarke’s shoulders, weighing her down with each step. The quiet swishing of the hem over her boots is the only sound in the room. She keeps her gaze forward, ignoring every eye upon her. 

When the dais finally looms in front, she takes bunches of the thick fabric in her fists, lifting it high before climbing the steps. Her carefully braided hair is already unraveling after just hours, making her feel as frazzled as her racing heartbeat. Still she keeps her steps slow and measured, the hollow ringing of her boots on stone like a metronome.

At the top, she looks to Indra, who inclines her head briefly. The warrior's eyes remain hard, but not without emotion. There’s a shared understanding between them now, whether they like it or not.

That’s what happens when you’re bonded by death.

Clarke takes a deep breath, and turns around.

A sea of faces awaits. Her army. They’re all similarly dressed in drab colors, headscarves and hoods covering their features. Tall, short; male, female; adults, teens—it doesn't seem to matter anymore. Right now they're a single unit, ready to fight. They number well over a hundred. With a sharp pang she remembers how her own people once reached that count too.

It feels so long ago now. Like a different life. And, in a way, it was. The things she’s done since then—there’s no returning to who she used to be.

In this moment, Clarke suddenly feels very alone.

A single figure steps forward from the crowd. His eyes are the only uncovered part about him—they are all she needs. They anchor her to the spot as he approaches the dais with the long, confident strides she’s only ever known one person to possess. He doesn’t even pause at the bottom, just starts right up the stone steps. His brashness is reassuring in a way nothing else today has been. 

Beside her, Indra stiffens and nearly unsheathes her sword, but a wave of Clarke’s hand stops her movements. She remains frozen, unable to take her eyes off the figure who nears with every step. Soon he stands before her, just inches shy of touching.

Clarke looks up into deep brown eyes and allows herself a smile. “You’re late.”

Bellamy tosses the hood off and unravels the scarf from his face, a hint of his old grin appearing. “Sorry. _Heda.”_

“Don’t call me that,” she replies automatically. Anger flares within as she catches sight of the ugly bruise on his cheekbone. Another welt makes itself known on his forehead, glaring out from between dark curls. She doesn’t realize her fingertips are skating over the purpling skin until Bellamy’s hand wraps around her wrist.

“Had to improvise a bit,” he murmurs. “I’m okay, _heda.”_

The words don’t make her feel any better—she knows it and he knows it—but he says them anyways, because she needs to hear it. Besides, they had known it wouldn’t come easy. So she pushes her concern aside and makes room for the anger instead.

“I’m not your _heda,”_ she replies, jabbing at his chest. He doesn’t budge, though his grip on her wrist tightens.

Then he smiles. “Right. Because you’re my Clarke.”

Clarke suddenly wants to disappear into her own disguise, pull a scarf over her face and get lost among the army that stands behind him. He _would_ decide now, of all times, was the time to remind her of that horrid slip. To this day she’s not sure what took control of her tongue, but it hasn’t stopped terrifying her since. Somehow Bellamy finds a way to scare her more than anything else in this world. 

She has half a mind to turn and run, just like she did that evening in the woods, but—she promised she wouldn’t. 

_No more running._

As if he can sense her panic, Bellamy leans down just a little, until his breath warms her nose when he whispers, “I’m yours too. And I’m not going anywhere.”

His gaze holds only a strong conviction, and though Clarke knows their world is unpredictable, she feels a calm certainty flood her nerves at the promise in his words all the same. Because he’s right. He _is_ hers, and so are the others. They will fight for what is theirs. 

So she pries his hand from her wrist, only to intertwine their fingers, squeezing gently. Bellamy’s expression clears into a new kind of smile, full of fire and fight. He turns around, and they face their army shoulder to shoulder.

It’s time to go to war.


	7. Don't Forget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post 3x03 - Clarke and Bellamy have a conversation when she temporarily returns to Arkadia to discuss more terms of the coalition/response to Azgeda.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I desperately need them to have a convo that lasts more than five seconds, so until it actually happens, I wrote one to make myself feel better XD

Bellamy won’t look at her. 

His gaze remains fixated on the ground while Pike and Kane get into another argument about Skaikru’s response to Azgeda. Attacking first shows strength, says her old Earth Skills teacher; better not to be rash, focus on defenses, says the chancellor. Meanwhile Indra stiffens beside her each time Pike jabs a finger angrily in her general direction and spitting "Grounders" like it's a death knell. Clarke rubs her forehead wearily. It’s the same argument they’ve had for the past three hours, and nothing has changed.

Including how Bellamy has all but withdrawn into himself, exhaustion apparent in his every feature. At the day, at the situation. At the world. He’s clearly torn between the two men, doing his best not to take sides, but Clarke watches his fingers itch at his rifle strap, how they flex and release uncontrollably, how he shifts from foot to foot and rolls his shoulders every now and then. Anger’s boiling inside him, just waiting for a spark.

She almost wishes she was the spark, if only to make him finally talk to her, _look_ at her, aside from the blankness that enters his eyes every time someone calls for Wanheda. If she thought the look he gave her back in Polis was bad—this is so much worse.

When Pike and Kane’s voices rise again, Clarke steps between them. “Enough. That’s enough,” she tells them both. “We’re not getting anywhere like this.”

The horns sound loud and clear outside the cabin, soaring over the hustle and bustle of Arkadia. Clarke’s eyes close in defeat. That’s the signal from the other delegations. 

“Clarke’s right,” Kane says, frustrated. “We’re done for today anyways. Please share our thoughts with Lexa and the others. See if they have any insight. They know Azgeda better than we do.” He squeezes her shoulder once. “Stay safe over there.”

She wants to thank him for the kindness and patience he’s shown. Not just to her, but to her mother. To Bellamy. But her throat slams shut, so all she can do is nod and offer a brief smile, hoping one day she’ll be better at this.

When the horns sound again, Bellamy says a brief word to Pike, avoiding everyone else’s eyes while making his way to the door. Clarke sidesteps, trying to get to him.

“Wait—”

He doesn’t break his stride. “Better get going, princess. Wouldn’t want you to be late.” 

The nickname hits her like a slap in the face. She stands there frozen, watching his broad form hurry out like he can’t stand to be in the same room with her for another second, each long step taking him further away, and with it, the last of her hope.

Someone beside her is insisting that they must leave now to make it back to Polis in time, but Clarke ignores them. 

_”Heda_ will—”

“She’ll wait.” Clarke pushes the door open and runs outside, her head swiveling until she spots a dark figure taking his post atop the hill. Determined, she goes after him.

If Bellamy hears her coming, he doesn’t give any hint of it. He just stands there, stoic, looking into the distance despite the loud stomping of her footsteps as she makes her way up. 

“That wasn’t fair,” she says as soon as she’s close. 

“What, do you prefer _Wanheda_ now?”

“No!” Clarke steps right in front of him. “Bellamy, what’s gotten into you?”

 _”Me?”_ He finally snaps, his full height looming over her and eyes blazing. “I should be asking you that question.”

She swallows. “You know I’m only doing what I have to, for our people—”

He barks out something that should be a laugh, but that’s so full of bitterness and hurt that it can’t be.

“Our people. Right. The ones you won’t even come back to for a full night.” Now his furious gaze traps her, renders her immobile even as her heart thrashes. “You think the rest of us aren’t haunted? The rest of us don’t have ghosts? We’ve all done horrible things. And not all of us get to hide behind a fancy title.”

“I’m not hiding—” 

“Bullshit,” Bellamy fumes. “You’ve been hiding for three months, from us, from yourself. Now you live in Polis, wear their clothes, eat with them, with _her,_ the person who left us to die in that mountain—”

“Stop! Stop it!” Clarke feels the tears tracking down her cheeks as she hits his chest, his shoulder. “Please, just stop—”

Bellamy’s hands clamp around her wrists. He doesn't pull her closer or push her away, just holds her there. To her complete shock, his eyes are glassy too.

“Why won’t you come home, Clarke?” He asks softly, and oh god, she was wrong, _this_ is the worst.

She closes her eyes, tugging weakly at his grip, but he doesn’t let go. He won’t let her run. Not this time. Shuddering a deep breath, she turns her head to wipe her cheek on her jacket.

“You once told me that who we are and who we have to be to survive are two different things. Do you remember that?” Clarke opens her eyes and looks at Bellamy. “I _need_ to be Wanheda to survive. To keep our people alive until the clans accept us in the coalition. It’s the only way I can still protect them. The only way I know how.”

"And what happens afterwards?" He asks. "You just stay Wanheda for life? There's always going to be a new threat if you think like that."

"I can't think about after. All I can think about is how to keep more of us from dying right now." Silently, she begs him to understand. It's the same for him, she knows it is, knows he carries the same weight on his shoulders—but she _needs_ him to see her side, too. Maybe one day this won't be their life—maybe. But if they're going to get there, she has to do this.

Bellamy studies her for a long time, his gaze deep and probing, and though it makes her more terrified than anything, she lets him. Finally he releases her hands, leaning back against the tree trunk. Clarke feels unsteady for a moment. His throat bobs as he tries to collect himself.

Then he says, “I think you were doing a good job of that as Clarke.”

“Maybe. But…” Clarke stops and searches for the right words to explain her jumbled mind. “I don’t know how to be Clarke right now," she says finally. "I tried to be no one, and that didn't work for long. But when I’m Wanheda, at least I have some control. And we need that, Bellamy, especially right now.” She stops when her voice shakes, biting her cheek until she can speak again. “It's not that I don't want to come back. But I'm just not ready.”

“You wouldn’t be alone, you know,” he murmurs. “If you did come back. You'd have help.” Now _he's_ the one imploring. Clarke stares up at him in wonder, because somehow she hasn’t lost him yet. As if reading her thoughts, Bellamy straightens, becoming determined. “I’m right here, Clarke.”

“I know that,” she whispers. 

The sadness in his eyes makes her ache, but he only inclines his head. “You should go. They’re waiting.”

“Bellamy—”

“I get it, alright? I get it.” And he does, she can see that now. It's reluctant acceptance, but acceptance nonetheless. She nods, about to turn away, when he reaches out again. Just like he did in the bunker over two weeks ago, he brushes hair from her face with an unbearable gentleness. 

“One thing, though,” he requests. “You might need Wanheda... but I need Clarke. So just try not to forget about her, okay?”

Clarke can't help the tear that rolls down her cheek, but she doesn't care because she's smiling for what feels like the first time in days. “You won't let me forget.”

It comes out as more of a question than she intended, but Bellamy nods firmly anyways. “I won't.”

She takes a deep breath and offers one last smile before slowly walking away. Halfway down the hill, she stops to look back at him. The sun casts shadows over his face, but his eyes are still locked on her.

“We’ll meet again,” she tells him.

A flicker of a smile appears at the corner of his mouth. The sight both shatters her heart and puts it back together all at once. 

“Damn right we will.”


	8. (Don't) Blame It On the Alcohol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for [avidfangirllife](http://archiveofourown.org/users/avidfangirllife/pseuds/avidfangirllife) ( _brayvenlarke_ on Tumblr) who requested: **meeting at a party whilst drunk au**

Red cup firmly clutched in one hand, Clarke throws her arm around Raven. “This was a great idea!” she yells into her ear.

“Duh,” her friend smirks and elbows her. “It was my idea.”

“You’re the best,” Clarke smacks her cheek in a wet kiss.

“And you’re drunk,” Raven replies, grinning.

She shrugs. “I believe that was _also_ your ideaaaa,” she sings. Raven laughs and squeezes her around the waist, taking a sip from her cup as they lean against the kitchen counter.

The party’s in full swing, music blaring from the living room speakers and far too many of Arkadia’s junior class crammed into Wick and Monty’s house just blocks off campus. And even with all those people, Clarke hasn’t caught even a glimpse of the one person she was hoping to see.

It’s stupid, really. She shouldn’t care so much. Octavia said her brother had had a rough week, between finals and checking in on their mom back home. He was probably too busy to bother with another college party.

But—she can’t help but miss him. Want to check in on him. Things have been different with them lately. And yeah, maybe she hoped to distract him from real life too, if just for one night.

Clarke shakes the thought from her head. Better that he’s not here. With the amount of alcohol in her system, there’s no telling what she might do. She focuses her attention on the living room, where Wick and Jasper are currently in the midst of what sounds like an epic karaoke session. The sight sends Clarke into giggles, while Raven just shakes her head, folding her arms across her chest.

“You’re boyfriend’s a great singer,” Clarke shouts on purpose.

As expected, Raven glares. “No he’s not. And he’s not my boyfriend.”

“That’s not what he told me.”

Dark eyes narrow, glancing back to the blonde boy at the mic. He grins, crooking his finger at her. When Raven doesn’t budge, Clarke bumps her hip.

_“Go.”_

Raven rolls her eyes, swiping another red cup from the counter before padding over, the picture of reluctance. But Clarke knows better, and so does Wick. The moment she’s close, he drops the mic and slings his arm around her, leaning down to whisper something that makes her grin and punch his shoulder.

“Shoulda known Raven was behind this rager.”

Clarke turns to find Bellamy lounging next to her, hands in his pockets. Absent are the thick glasses usually perched on the tip of his nose (shame), but in their place is a shadow of stubble along his jaw and poorly hidden bags under his eyes. Still, he’s smiling faintly, dark eyes filled with warmth.

“You came!” She throws her arms around him with a little shriek, sloshing her drink.

He seems about as surprised as she is, frozen for several seconds. Clarke can’t exactly blame him. She can count on one hand the number of times they’ve hugged, let alone touched this long. But—for once her heart seems to have overpowered her brain, so she keeps hugging him, allowing her lips to touch the skin that peeks out from the collar of his shirt. Then he wraps both arms around her and lifts her to her toes, chuckling into her ear, and she smiles.

“Yeah, I’m here. O insisted. And your texts helped.”

“What?” Clarke pulls back. “I didn’t text you.”

He tilts his head, studying her face curiously, then the near-empty cup in her hands. His mouth curls at the corners. “How much have you had, princess?”

“Shut up. Seriously, I didn’t text you. I don’t even have my phone, I gave it to—”

Clarke furrows her brow, glancing over her shoulder. Raven waves back from the couch, the picture of innocence.

Bellamy follows her gaze. “Oh. Guess I should have known.” The disappointment in his voice is new; it makes her rush to reassure him.

“I _did_ want you to come,” she says, grasping his arm. “If I’d had my phone I would have been texting you non-stop. Scout’s honor.”

He seems to accept that, nodding. While he looks out at the rest of the party, she looks at him, the weariness in his features. His slumped shoulders, the tight draw of his mouth, the heaviness in his every movement. He deserves a break, temporary as it might be.

“Here,” Clarke hands him a drink, knocking their cups together. “You should catch up. Cheers!”

“Cheers,” he echoes, amused, and drains his cup in one swallow.

She frowns. “So things are that bad, huh?”

Bellamy grunts. “Are we talking or drinking?”

She looks at him a little longer, then hands him another cup without a word. They drink, and dance a little at Raven’s insistence, and drink some more. Clarke spends a lot of the evening perched on the kitchen counter, teasing and talking with Bellamy. They always end up this way at parties, somehow secluded in the midst of the chaos in their own warm little bubble. She gets him to smile several times, proper ones that dimple his cheek and crinkle his eyes, and she can’t help but mentally trace the broad line of his shoulders through his black t-shirt. More than once, she catches him watching her with interest before her eyes dart away.

Raven comes by later to tell her she’s staying the night. “Wick said you’re welcome to the spare room if you want it,” she adds. Her eyes cut sideways, sly. “Both of you.”

Clarke’s cheeks go hot. Not looking at Bellamy, she just shakes her head. “Thanks, but I need some air. I’ll walk home, it’s just a few blocks.”

After Raven leaves, Bellamy taps her knee. “Want some company?” He asks it hesitantly, like he’s fully prepared for her to say no.

She brightens. “Really? You don’t mind?”

“Of course not.”

“Okay, then—yeah. Thanks.” A strange shyness overcomes her. Hopping off the counter, she goes to find Monty and Jasper and says her goodbyes.

Bellamy’s waiting on the porch when she steps outside. They walk the first block in silence, Clarke stealing glances at the boy beside her every few steps. She wonders what it would be like to just sway right into his arms, curl against that strong chest, and stay there instead of having to pull away seconds later.

Maybe it’s time to stop wondering.

He’s still looking at the sky when her fingers weave with his. Clarke keeps her gaze downward, somewhat transfixed by their intertwined hands, the sheer rightness of it, even though she can feel his surprise burning a hole through her skull.

“What are you doing?” Bellamy asks quietly. He doesn’t sound mad—just uncertain.

“I’m holding your hand,” she says lightly.

“Clarke.”

“Bellamy,” she imitates his serious tone.

He sighs. _“Why_ are you holding my hand?”

“Because I want to.”

They’ve stopped walking now. Bellamy tilts her chin up until she meets his eyes. “Do you? Or does the tequila want you to?”

Oh. So that’s what he’s afraid of. Clarke smiles, stepping closer and feeling his chest stutter as he inhales. “I _always_ want to,” she says honestly. “The tequila just helped me actually do it this time.”

A beautiful smile splits his face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she pokes him, a little stunned that he didn’t already know that. His thumb strokes the back of her hand, and even the light touch makes her dizzy, because it’s Bellamy, and she’s _holding his hand._ Smiling, she pulls him along, keeping his hand tightly wrapped in hers even as her building comes into view.

At her front door, he stops again, the nerves apparent on his face. “Clarke, I’m not—”

“Yes you are,” she interrupts, digging for her keys.

“Clarke—”

“Bellamy,” she says sternly, cupping his chin. “You are going to come upstairs and sleep in my bed tonight, because I’ve waited like a year for this, and I’m not making either of us wait for another night because you’re trying to be chivalrous. And yeah,” she adds before he can speak, _“that’s_ the tequila talking. So I won’t take no for an answer.”

He stares for a long moment, then gives her a lopsided grin that makes her knees weak. “Whatever you say, princess.”

The smile remains as he follows her upstairs, looking at her room with newfound awareness while she pulls back the covers. When she pulls out her sleep shirt and shorts, he raises an eyebrow.

“You can’t change here. That’s not chivalry talking. Just me.”

She grins, but nods, heading for the bathroom. When she returns a few minutes later, having scrubbed off makeup and changed, Bellamy’s seated on the bed.

“I forgot to ask if you prefer a side.”

Giggling, Clarke shoves at his shoulder and crawls in. “You’re so cute when you’re nervous,” she says through a yawn. “It’s a new look on you. I like it.”

“I like _you,”_ Bellamy says back, and for some reason she blushes, her whole body warm and tingly.

She falls asleep under the crook of his arm, comforted by the weight of his hand on her side and his solid body stretched out beside her.

When she wakes, she’s on her back, Bellamy’s arm slung across her stomach and his breath warming her shoulder. Sunlight streams through her curtains, as if to confirm that no, she’s not dreaming—this is real. They’re real.

She smiles at the ceiling for way too long, then turns to study him. Bellamy’s face is peaceful, absent of the worry lines she’s so used to seeing. He looks almost younger this way. Gently, she brushes a few wild curls from his forehead, and he sighs and tightens his arm around her. Clarke nearly leans in and kisses him on the spot, but—no. She’s going to kiss him when he’s wide awake.

She’s counting the freckles on his cheeks, her toes drifting up his calf, when his eyes flutter open.

“Morning,” she whispers.

Bellamy blinks, squints, then refocuses. She laces her fingers with his, waiting, until his face lights up.

“Morning,” he says, voice thick with sleep. Boy, she could get used to that real fast.

They lie there for a while, just grinning like complete fools, until Bellamy says, “I don’t think I can wait until after breakfast to kiss you.”

Clarke nudges her nose to his. “So don’t.”

~~~~~~~~~

When they finally leave her bed, Bellamy looks at her clock and begins to laugh.

“How do you feel about a late lunch instead?”


	9. The Kids Are Alright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For [MidnightOverlord](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightOverlord) who requested: **parents meeting when they take their kids to class au**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went to town on this one. No shame, all the fluff.

“Daaad, come _on,_ I don’t wanna miss it, it’s—”

“Picture day, I know, I know. I’m coming.” Bellamy rounds the car, smiling at his little girl obediently bouncing on her toes in one spot. Brunette curls fall to her shoulder, held back by a blue hairband that matches her t-shirt.

Thank god for Octavia helping him out, or they’d still be in the house trying to figure out what to wear.

Thea takes his hand and pulls, hard. Bellamy chuckles and walks alongside her, listening to her chatter about _Balto_ and why they should _totally have a dog_ until she pauses mid-sentence and waves frantically into the distance.

“Riley!!”

A blonde girl turns, her face lighting up in equal joy as she spots Thea. She takes off running towards them, followed closely by her mother. Bellamy recognizes her. They’d met at the parents’ night early in the school year. She already stood out in her blue scrubs, but it was the way she pushed aside her clear weariness to greet not just her own daughter but the other kids, chatting with the teachers politely and putting her kid’s needs first— that was what Bellamy had noticed.

Now he sees her every Monday, Wednesday and Friday, dropping off Riley right as he drops off Thea.

Riley reaches them first, arms wide for a hug. Her mom smiles at the two girls, then more hesitantly at Bellamy, her eyes roaming over his form like she’s trying to place him from somewhere.

“Good morning.”

“Morning,” he replies. “Ready for picture day?”

Her smile widens. “Definitely. Though,” she leans in closer, whispering, “I can’t believe we actually made it out the door on time.”

He grins. “Trust me, I get it. My sister is the only reason we’re here.”

Understanding flashes across her face. “Just you guys, huh?”

“Yeah. Her aunt’s a big help. And she has many uncles ready to spoil her at a moment’s notice.” He looks at Thea fondly. “They’re not blood, but they’re still family.”

“That sounds nice. It’s good that you have that.” She sounds wistful.

“And you?” Bellamy finds himself asking. “Is it just you two also?”

She nods. “Mostly. Grandma’s a big help, when she’s not working. We trade off on transportation twice a week.” That explained her schedule. She looks down when her daughter tugs at her shirt.

“Mom, this is my friend I told you about! Althea! Isn’t her name so cool?”

“That is cool,” she agrees, crouching. “You’re a very lucky girl, Althea.”

Thea beams as Bellamy squeezes her shoulder. “You can call me Thea,” his daughter says, remembering her manners.

“Thea it is. My name is Clarke.”

“Clarke.” Thea repeats it once more, softer, then looks up at him, dark eyes wide and a little too innocent. “That’s a pretty name, isn’t it dad?”

Bellamy nods in agreement, absently wondering if Thea’s been spending too much time with O. Then he glances at Riley, who’s studying him about as curiously as her mother.

“Riley, right? I hear you have great taste in stories.”

The girl straightens and smiles toothily, dimpling her cheeks. “Mom reads me the best books at night,” she says confidently.

The sound of the first morning bell makes them all turn. Bellamy leans down for a kiss and hug from Thea, promising to see her in the evening after work. “Be good for Aunt Octavia,” he murmurs.

“I will dad, bye! Bye Clarke!” She yells.

Clarke waves after receiving her own hug from Riley. They watch the girls skip into the school together arm in arm, already exclaiming over another topic.

Bellamy turns to her and holds out his hand. “I’m Bellamy, by the way.”

“Hi, Bellamy.” Clarke’s smile is considerably less tentative, and just as a captivating. He holds her hand a few seconds longer than necessary.

Because she doesn’t seem in a rush to move, he says, “So you work at the hospital, right? You came to Parents’ Night in scrubs,” he adds hastily.

“Yeah,” she grins, a bit sheepish. “I was hoping to change after my shift, but I got held up… barely made it on time. But I wanted to be here, for Riley’s sake. I hate missing any of this stuff.”

He smiles. “It’s fun, getting to watch them grow up. Scary as hell, but fun.”

Clarke laughs with him, and it’s a beautiful sound.

~~~~~~~

On Wednesday morning she catches his eye first, already outfitted in her navy scrubs. She lingers by his car again as they watch the kids go inside.

“Be prepared to hear about Princess Merida tonight,” she says with a grin. “We watched _Brave_ after dinner.”

“Good choice,” he says approvingly.

“I thought so at first. Now it’s just spawned yet another Halloween costume possibility.”

Bellamy chuckles. “Indecisive?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe! Last week it was Hermione. The week before, Elsa. Now I have a feeling I’m going to be hunting for a red wig.” She shakes her head. “Has Thea picked a costume yet?”

“Oh yeah. She’s got her heart set on being Rey. You know, from _Star Wars.”_

Clarke smiles. “She’ll make a great Jedi.”

“Yeah. I told her she’s not allowed to change her mind last-minute. I can only learn one complicated hairstyle a month.”

That gets another laugh from Clarke. It’s quickly becoming one of his favorite things to hear.

~~~~~~~

“Where do you work?” Clarke asks him the following Monday. The wrinkle in her brow makes him wonder how long she’s been curious.

“The high school. I teach world history to the freshman.”

“Oh. Okay.” She still sounds perplexed.

Bellamy waits as long as he can, then nudges her. “Something wrong?”

“No, just— have you always worked there?”

“Pretty much. I mean I teach a class at the community college every semester too, but—”

She perks up. “The one on Fifth and Gatlin?”

“Yeah.” Bellamy studies her a little more closely. There’s no way she was his student. He would have noticed, definitely. “Did you take a class there?”

“Ceramics,” she says impishly, raising an eyebrow like she’s waiting for him to get the joke.

“Cera—” Bellamy’s eyes go wide. “Oh, no.”

Clarke grins gleefully, clapping her hands. “Oh _yes!”_

Groaning, he puts his face into his hands. For every fantastic moment he’s had as a teacher, there’s always a mortifying one waiting right around the corner. And of course Clarke would be involved in the latter, because the universe just loves to laugh.

“It was my first day,” he says helplessly. “I’d just moved here and I was late already. They told me to go to room 218.” Clarke is valiantly holding back her laughter, nodding sympathetically. “How was I supposed to know there was an A _and_ B holding different classes at the same time?”

She pats his arm. “The odds were against you. And my professor was late, too, so it was a reasonable assumption.” A giggle escapes. “It was just adorable that you had a whole speech prepared for your class and everything. I mean, I’m sure if I’d been there for that I would have appreciated it.”

Bellamy hangs his head. “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”

“Probably not.”

~~~~~~~

It becomes routine. They meet up while dropping off the girls, linger and talk by the car — she takes her coffee with two creams only, he’s allergic to walnuts, her best friend is a mechanic, his sister’s wedding is in May — before going their separate ways.

Clarke is easy to talk to, he finds. It’s kind of nice to commiserate with another single parent, someone who gets the ups and downs but also doesn’t linger on them, who focuses on the silver linings more than the clouds. He soon discovers that’s her approach to pretty much everything. It only endears her further to him, and apparently to Thea too, who can’t seem to stop talking about “Riley’s awesome mom” every chance she gets.

And while those shared mornings mostly revolve around the latest parenting story, sometimes they venture off, too. Like when Clarke mentions the room she’s remodeling into a studio after he catches the stripe of paint on her elbow. The way painting seems to calm her when nothing else will. Or when Bellamy boasts about beating her in a game of pool just to see her eyes narrow in a challenge he knows she can’t resist.

Bellamy begins to dislike Tuesdays and Thursdays simply because it means no Clarke that day, though he doesn’t realize how obvious it’s become until O asks him why he’s stomping and glowering one morning. Before he can search for an excuse, Thea beats him to it.

“Dad has a cruuush,” she sings.

Octavia’s eyes widen. Bellamy gulps. “Out the door, munchkin, we’re gonna be late.” He all but flees before Octavia can pounce, but she wastes no time lighting up his phone with text after text until he just calls her on his lunch break.

To his surprise, Clarke invites them trick-or-treating in her neighborhood, and between Thea’s pleading looks and the tentative hope in Clarke’s voice, of course he says yes.

And if there’s a tiny part of him that yells victoriously when she suggests exchanging phone numbers, well— he’ll just keep ignoring it for now.

Clarke ends up going as Black Widow, mostly because “Riley wanted to match mommy,” she confides to him later, tugging on her red hair. Her daughter peeks out from under a mass of her own matching ginger curls, looking more than delighted. It makes Bellamy even more grateful that there wasn’t a Chewbacca outfit left at the store. Instead he keeps with the _Star Wars_ theme and decides to be Poe Dameron, borrowing his future brother-in-law’s old vest and getting Miller to loan him an orange jumpsuit from the station, throwing Jasper’s goggles around his neck.

Between the four of them, they make kind of an awesome group, Bellamy thinks.

~~~~~~~

Three weeks after Halloween, Thea insists on seeing _Zootopia_ with Riley. “Pleeeeease, Dad,” she says for the fifth time on their way to school. “It’s on Saturday, you’re not working and Clarke’s not working, and I’ll finish my homework _early_ I promise—”

“How about we wait to see what Clarke says, okay?” He says, ruffling her hair.

After the girls skip off, Clarke glances at him. “So did you hear about _Zootopia?”_ She asks wryly.

“Only about a hundred times,” he grins back.

“Would you— are you okay with it?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

She looks at him a little longer, then shakes her head. “No reason. So, Saturday then. I was thinking the 4:10 show? We can meet at the ticket booth.”

“Sure,” he says, still wondering what he missed.

~~~~~~~

It hits him right before they leave the house Saturday, when his sister sweetly tells him to have fun on his _date._

“It’s not—” He starts, then stops. _Is it?_

He wonders all the way to the theater, nodding absently to Thea’s excited statements until they see two familiar blondes standing outside. Clarke waves, falling into step beside him after they get their tickets. She’s about as quiet as he is, and it only sends his nerves skyrocketing.

Riley bounces up to them. “Mom, can Thea and I share popcorn?”

“Sure.” Clarke goes with them to the counter, then turns back to him. “Do you want anything?”

“Um,” Bellamy clears his throat, wondering why _he_ feels like a kid all of a sudden. “N-no. Thanks, though.”

She nods and gets them popcorn and drinks, following them to the door of the theater.

“Dad,” Thea tugs his hand before they go in. “Can I sit with Riley?”

“You can sit where ever you want, kiddo. Just not too close to the screen, okay?” Belatedly, he looks at Clarke. “Is that alright with you?”

She smiles. “Yeah.”

But Thea isn’t satisfied. Tugging harder, she says, _“No,_ dad, I meant, can me and Riley sit by ourselves?”

Bellamy looks at Clarke, who stares right back at him with pink cheeks. She looks about as off-balance as he is, and for some reason it makes him feel better.

“Mom!” It’s Riley’s turn to ask. “Please, can we?”

“Uh,” Clarke clutches the strap of her bag, biting her lip. “I guess— if it’s okay with Bellamy, it’s okay with me.” She glances up at him through her lashes.

A smile stretches his mouth. “It’s okay with me,” he says softly, answering her unspoken question. Clarke smiles back, relieved.

The girls rush ahead excitedly, only slowing when Clarke reminds them not to run inside. They follow after, finding the theater slowly filling. As Riley and Thea settle into their seats, giggling and munching on their popcorn, Bellamy is struck by an idea.

Touching Clarke’s shoulder, he leans closer. “Can you grab us seats? I’ll be right back.”

Ten minutes later, he’s hopping up the stairs and making his way to where Clarke sits, juggling a large soda and popcorn, a box of chocolates hidden in his jacket pocket. Clarke stands to help him, taking the popcorn from his hands.

“You didn’t have to do this,” she says softly, but she’s definitely blushing now. Bellamy decides he likes the look on her. Very much.

“Oh come on. You think I didn’t see you eyeing those Butterfinger bites earlier?” He pulls the box from his pocket with a wink.

Clarke grins shyly and looks away, just in time to see Riley and Thea give each other a not-so-discreet high five. Bellamy chuckles, more out of astonishment than anything else. Clarke puts her face in her hands.

“It figures,” she says dryly, “that my mom would try to set me up for years without success, but it takes my kid eight weeks.”

“To be fair, she had help. And I’m not entirely willing to count my sister out just yet either.”

Clarke laughs again, and this time it gives him butterflies. He slides his hand out on the armrest, palm up. She raises an eyebrow. “Did you seriously just try that move?”

“That can’t even be called a move, that’s like the most basic teenage action that exists,” Bellamy argues, grinning wildly.

“What’s next, are we going to be necking in your car?” She teases.

“Necking?” He repeats incredulously. She shoves him. “Who says necking?”

“I do, you got a problem with that?”

Bellamy laughs, bumping her shoulder. “Just take my hand, already.”

She does. Neither of them let go for the whole two hours.

~~~~~~~~~

 _“You should’ve kissed her!”_ Thea screeches the second they’re in the car.

Bellamy leans back in the seat, a grin pulling at his mouth. “Exactly how long have you been planning that, munchkin?”

“Long enough,” she mutters, folding her arms. He muffles a snort at the last second. Yeah, she’s definitely his daughter.

Eventually, he manages to get her off the topic for the last ten minutes of their drive home, cajoling her into talking about her latest group project. As they head up to the porch, he notices the lights on and shoots a warning glance at O when she opens door. She takes the hint and doesn’t ask, even though she’s clearly dying for news.

“Lincoln working tonight?” He says instead.

“Yeah, he got called in, so I figured I’d come by and say hi. But I forgot it was movie night.”

_Unlikely._

She scoops up Thea, kissing her cheek noisily. “Can I read you a story before bed today?”

They both look at Bellamy, who grins and shoos them upstairs. He takes advantage of the few extra minutes to get things ready for the morning, making sure he’s finished all the grading and has his lesson plans ready. When he finally walks to Thea’s room, his daughter is whispering furiously to O.

“Thought Aunt Octavia was telling _you_ a story,” he teases from the doorway.

Octavia shrugs, not the least bit fazed. “Thea had a better one.”

“I bet.” To Thea he says, “I think that’s enough for tonight, kiddo. Say goodnight.”

“‘Kay. G’nite, Aunt ‘Tavia,” Thea gives O a tight hug, and Bellamy has to fight the urge to take out his phone and take a picture. For all their scheming, he loves seeing them together.

Octavia gives him a look as she passes by, but he ignores her and settles on the bed, a hand on Thea’s knee. “Did you have fun tonight?”

She nods through a massive yawn. “So much. Riley’s my best friend. And her mom is—”

“Awesome, I know,” Bellamy finishes, chuckling.

“Dad?” Thea shuffles closer, looking far too serious for her age. “Did you have fun tonight?”

Bellamy smiles and wraps his arms around her, kissing the top of her head. “Yeah, I did, kiddo. All thanks to you.”

She curls into his lap like she used to when she was just a toddler, and he rocks back and forth until her soft snores echo in the room. Gently tucking her into bed, he kisses her forehead and heads for the door. Octavia’s waiting in the hall.

“I’m off next Wednesday and Friday. All night,” she says pointedly.

Grinning, Bellamy yanks her into a brief but fierce hug. “I’ll think about it,” he says firmly, and for once she lets it go at that. 

After she leaves, he heads to his own room, flopping down fully clothed on the mattress and staring at the ceiling for a few long minutes. Finally, he reaches for his phone and dials.

Clarke picks up on the second ring. “Hello there.” The delight in her voice makes his heart race.

“Hi. Am I interrupting?”

“No, no. Riley passed out in the car. After giving me quite the lecture, I may add.”

“Our daughters are bossy,” he agrees. “That’s actually why I’m calling.”

Clarke’s silence might be anticipation or panic; since Bellamy’s not sure which, he just plows forward.

“I’m thinking we should go to a proper dinner, just you and me. I’ve already got a volunteer to babysit Friday night.”

“Oh?” She’s blushing again, he just _knows_ it, and damnit he’s totally going to kiss her.

“Yeah. So… what do you say?”

After a heartstopping minute, Clarke laughs. “Okay. It’s a date.”


End file.
